


Zweisamkeit

by gooddaysunshine



Series: Hatchetfield Happies [2]
Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Paulkins - Freeform, i would put other tags but i feel like it would spoiling it, just coming here to bring some more happy fluffy feels to the quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:02:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 105,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooddaysunshine/pseuds/gooddaysunshine
Summary: (German): the secluded but deep intimacy between two people; when they could be in a room full of people, but they choose to hide away in the corner because they only want to talk to each otherA continuation of the timeline created in Forelsket. More adventures with our two little nerds in love because they don't ever seem to get the chance in canon.
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Series: Hatchetfield Happies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699126
Comments: 793
Kudos: 223





	1. Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am. Once again. (we love a Kelly Clarkson moment)
> 
> But really, here's the second part of my little oasis of happiness in the mystical and terrifying Hatchetfield.
> 
> I do want to say at the jump here that I am so thankful for everyone who read and enjoyed Forelsket and are willing to stay along for the ride. You all were so wonderful and kind in the comments, and I can't help but tear up thinking of all the lovely support I've gotten. You're the best, and I love you (in the most love a stranger can give over the internet).

Their house was quiet that night, as it was most nights, but with everyone still in lockdown, it seemed like the world was extra silent. Even with the door cracked open, letting in just enough of a cool draft to warrant sweaters, it still seemed quiet and still. Rain pattered onto the ground outside. A soft and constant rain. It had been going since the afternoon. It could go on all night in either one of their opinions.

Paul sat sprawled out across the couch, hair still wet from the long shower he had taken. They both agreed that it was best for them to actually take showers after they had stripped from their rain-soaked clothing. Though he had been fine with going second, Emma had insisted that he go first. Her logic, which was solid enough, was that he would take less time than her, and therefore, there would be more hot water for the second shower. To be fair, though, he had taken a much longer shower than he anticipated.

Now he waited for her to get out of her own lengthy shower. His thumb tapped onto the Facebook app on his phone. He rarely posted. It had been over a year since he had. It was a guilty pleasure of his to browse through his timeline and see what people from high school were doing. The mindset he would have on occasion was a little sadistic, but seeing his high school classmates blunder in their lives did bring him a small amount of joy. There had been so many days he spent being tormented by his brothers’ friends that watching them stumble through adult life made him feel a little more confident in his life decisions. 

Not that he had needed that sort of confirmation in a while. Things had been so good. He was happy for the first time in… ever. Even going to work and having Ted give him a hard time wasn’t terrible. He didn’t give as much of a hard time over clothes being left on the floor after a shower or dishes being left in the sink overnight. Those things still irked him, but they weren’t worth getting upset over anymore. Things were okay, and those minor inconveniences had quick fixes. 

A small red ‘1’ had appeared on the bell icon at the top of his screen. Not a normal occurrence for him, as he wasn’t active enough to really get any sort of comment or post from anyone. Curious, he looked into what sort of game his aunt was trying to invite him to play now. The actual notification itself surprised him.  _ Emma Perkins Relationship Request _ . Odd. They hadn’t even been friends on Facebook until a year into dating. Mostly because he wasn’t an active user, and the initial adding only happened when Melissa had given them a hard time about it.

Since then, though, he noticed that Emma did like to post pictures of them together every now and then. He would see them when his notifications were full after being tagged in a fairly commented on photo. A rare moment of a form of public affection from her. When they had first started seeing each other and she wouldn’t commit to labeling him as her boyfriend, he was worried that it was because she was embarrassed of him for some reason. Hiding him away from the rest of her world. But with captions like  _ He’s okay I guess. Jury’s still out. _ or  _ Some nerd just wandered into my house. Send help. _ , his doubts dissipated pretty quickly.

He pressed confirm and was brought to a new screen. There was a new life event post with a dozen comments underneath it.  _ Emma Perkins is with Paul Matthews _ . Their profile photos appeared beside one another. He snorted. His was taken at Ted’s birthday a couple years prior. He appeared red in the face and pretty sweaty but wearing a big goofy grin. Clearly already inebriated at the time the picture was taken. She was on his back, legs hooked through his arms and arms wrapped around his neck. Although she had been sober the entire night, something had made her comfortable enough at that point to smack a kiss on his cheek as the photo was snapped. It was one of his favorite pictures ever.

Hers, however, had changed since he had last seen her profile. The previous photo was of her and Melissa dressed as Uma Thurman and John Travolta in  _ Pulp Fiction _ . They had gotten together after Emma’s car crapped out on her when she tried to leave for the party. He worked from home the entire following week, so she could use his car. That weekend she drove off the lot of a car dealership with her first brand new car. It was a bright red Jetta on a five year lease. It suited her, and it’s pick up was impressive, allowing her to “drive like a total douche” as she put it.

It had changed to a picture of the two of them. Candid from New Years Eve at Ted’s house. They were standing on opposite sides of a ping pong table with several cups in front of each of them. He stood up straight with his hands on his hips and a smile on his face. She, on the other hand, was crouched down, yelling something at him with both middle fingers in the air. She was trying to explain how she was going to kick his ass, but unfortunately, she was very drunk and did not, in fact, kick his ass.

_ Married Paul Matthews _

_ Today _

In the kitchen, he heard the refrigerator open and close. Seconds later, she walked through the doorway into the living room with two bottles of beer in hand. “I don’t think I’ve had a better shower in my entire life,” she stated as she fell onto the other side of the couch. She was in a pair of black leggings and one of his old sweatshirts. Her wet hair dripped large wet spots on the fabric of the sweatshirt. She handed him one of the bottles. “Figured you might want one, too. Big day.”

“Thanks,” he replied, gladly accepting the beer. The stack of rings on her finger caught his eye. His heart could have skipped a beat. “Saw your thing on Facebook.”

With a mouthful of beer, she nodded her head before pulling out her own phone. “Yeah, Melissa’s pissed she wasn’t invited,” she noted, flipping through her own notifications. “Hey, look you finally joined the party. Looks like I officially have a husband. Nothing’s for real unless it’s on Facebook, right?” He squinted over at her through his glasses, and she stuck her tongue out without looking over at him. Her eyes moved to watch him. “C’mon, Paul. Get with the fucking times.”

“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me for not getting things or just fucking with me,” he questioned, taking a swing of his own drink. “Because you make it hard to tell sometimes.”

“Why can’t it be both, hmm?” she mused with her eyes back on her phone. “We’ve gotta keep the world updated from a safe distance, Paul. This is the  _ only  _ way.” As she spoke, her eyebrows raised exaggeratedly. They sat in silence for a second while he attempted to decide which type of hard time she was giving him. Sighing, she rolled her neck to look over at him. “I’m just fucking with you. Don’t be such an old man.”

“I’m younger than you.”

“By two fucking months.”

“Still counts.” He shoved her with his foot. “You robbed the cradle.”

“Yep, total cougar,” she played along, turning the phone screen off and tossing on the couch beside her. She scooted toward him. “Come on. Move.” Jutting her chin out toward his lap, she continued to scootch in his direction. He moved one leg off the couch. She took her cue to lay between his legs and pressing their chests together. “Do  _ you _ have any interest in making out with  _ me?” _

“Yeah, I think I would be interested in that.” His free hand lifted to push a strand of wet hair out of her face. Silver glinted in the living room light. He smiled. “You may want to get rid of the beer first.”

She points a finger at him. “Foresight, I like it,” she commended, placing her bottle on the coffee table before doing the same with his. With her chin resting on his chest, she beamed at him. A row of beautiful straight white teeth. The product of impressive genetics and minimal orthodontic work. She had a fantastic smile. “You and me, we’ve got a date tonight.”

“Do we?” he asked, genuinely curious as to what she was referring to.

“Yeah, we’re going to bone on the couch, remember?” she said as if it had been obvious. “Y’know. Consummate the marriage. Isn’t that something that happens?”

“If I say yes, are we definitely going to bone on the couch?”

“Sure, Paul.”

“Then yes, absolutely it’s something that happens. Marriages aren’t official until you go directly to bone town.”

She rolled her eyes, burying her face into his chest. “Oh my fucking  _ god,” _ she groaned. “You’re fucking lucky I like you.” She lifted her face again to look at him, and he simply stared at her in response. “What?” Wordlessly, he laid a hand on her cheek. Her face was bare and a little pale from all of the quarantining directly after winter’s closed. A smattering of light freckles sprinkled over her nose.

“I love you,” he said, kissing her lightly.

She leaned her head back, looking at him with a smirk. “Nerd,” she shouted right into his face in a deep voice before pressing her lips right up to his again. “But yes, I guess I love you too.”

“Nerd.”


	2. Don't Be Mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma sends Paul to the grocery store. He comes home with some interesting items.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another little one. I think it's pretty fun!
> 
> (rhyming... I'm also a poet now)
> 
> Also everyone keep staying well!

“Hey, so I might have done something.”

It was Paul’s turn to go out and try to pick things up at the grocery store. Namely Toilet paper and olive oil. Anything else would have to be things he found to be of particular interest for eating over the following couple of weeks. When he had gone once or twice before, Emma had given him a list of things to pick up, but he came back with genius items that she didn’t think of. So giving him free reign over the shopping didn’t seem like a terrible idea.

She did have to admit that him opening with those words made her feel a little wary of her decision.

“You do realize that being married only means that it’s a little harder for me to leave but not impossible, right?” she called back to him from her spot at the kitchen island. Her work from home locations changed on a daily basis to try and keep her sanity. Too much of the same scenery would have driven her absolutely mad. From her spot, she could hear the rustle of reusable grocery bags. It did sound like there was plenty of food he brought home with him, so hopefully that wasn’t the issue.

The door shut behind him again as he made a second trip out to his car. She popped up out of her stool and wandered over to the doorway between the kitchen and the foyer. Several bags were strewn about the ground. Filled to the brim with groceries. She could see that one was almost fully filled with produce which she asked for specifically, so they could prep a number of meals together that they could throw in the freezer and eat over the coming weeks. No toilet paper, but that was okay. It was a long shot anyway.

The front door opened slowly once again, and he poked his head around to look right at her. “Okay, so don’t be mad. There’s a reason, and I’ll get there. You just have to promise to hear me out, alright?” he requested, trying to balance something in his hand beyond the door. “Promise?”

“I make no fucking promises, you big weirdo,” she replied as she crossed her arms over her chest. “This is either really stupid or really bad. Either way I reserve my right to give you shit for whatever you’ve got going on over there.” He leaned in and nudged the door open. In his hand, he held an animal carrier. With an eyebrow arched, she stared down at the one eye that peered out at her. “I don’t know what I fucking expected, but this wasn’t it.”

“Okay, listen,” he spat out, placing the carrier onto the ground before holding his hands up defensively. “There were these people outside the grocery store from the shelter begging people to come and adopt because they’re a kill shelter and over capacity. I only went over to see what kind of fostering options there were, but I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to leave without this guy.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighed. There was a rush of relief that came over her. Mostly because she was anticipating something terrible. Like the world was ending or he ran into Ted at the store, who lifted up his mask and purposefully coughed right in his face. This was pretty tame in comparison. “So you mean to tell me that you went to the grocery store and came back with a…  _ cat?” _

“When you say it like that, it sounds pretty stupid,” he said defensively. A long meow came out of the crate. Sad meow. The little one-eyed face rubbed up against the opening in the carrier. “But I  _ did _ get food, too. And now this little guy has a home and won’t be euthanized.”

“Does he have a name?”

He grinned, bending down to open up the carrier. Gently, he scooped up the long orange cat inside. “This is Walter,” he stated, propping the cat’s rear end up with his forearm and holding him upright beneath his front arms with his other hand. “He’s five years old and great with other cats  _ and _ children. He lost his eye when his old owners found him. He’d been abandoned in an old house and had a pretty bad eye infection. The whole eye had to go which made him pretty unappealing to families, so he’s been at the shelter for a while now.”

She wasn’t going to admit it right away because it was a stupid thing to spontaneously bring a cat home, but the little guy was pretty cute. He was orange with streaks of a darker shade throughout his fur and a white spot smack in the center of his chest. The boy was long and thin. At first glance, he didn’t appear to be a big cat, but it was only because he was lean. Just a long skinny boy. One big blue eye stared out at her. She could hear him purring away in Paul’s arms. If she hadn’t been aware of the situation, she would have thought the two knew each other a long time and not a matter of hours.

“Janis is going to be pissed.”

“She actually came from a home with a ton of other animals. I think she’ll be okay.”

She closed the gap between them and stood face to face with their new housemate. His purrs grew louder. He stretched one paw out to her, kneading the air. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Jane would have killed her if she could have seen how soft she had gotten for cats. “Pleasure meeting you, Walter,” she said as if the cat was a business associate. Her fingers came up to scratch just under his chin, to which he responded with a contented mew. “Jesus, I can’t believe I’m a cat person now.”

“He’s cute, right?” Paul insisted as he rubbed at the cat’s chest with the hand holding him up.

“Yes.” Dammit, she told herself she wasn’t going to give him that yet. “But you could have said, ‘Oh hey, Emma, light of my life, I’m bringing home another fucking cat, so when I act like a goddamn weirdass, don’t be alarmed because I’m going out into a virus-filled shithole of a world and I don’t want to fucking worry you.’ Just, y’know, as a heads up.”

Paul ducked his head behind Walter’s and used his arm like a puppet. “Oh man, Mom, I’m sorry Dad’s a fucking dummy. Please don’t be too mad because he loves you and is very excited about me finding my forever home,” he blabbered, his voice higher in pitch as if that’s what Walter would sound like. Clearly, he was a weathered seaman and would not talk like a teenage boy.

“That is not as cute, but I think Walter will forgive you,” she told him, patting his back as she walked past him to grab grocery bags and push the front door all the way closed. “I’m going to put the food away. Walter, I’ll talk to you later. Paul, put the fucking cat down and help.”

He looked down at Walter, and she could have sworn she saw him kiss the top of the cat’s head before he placed him on the floor. Back in the kitchen, Janis was sitting on the counter beside Emma’s laptop, grooming her back. He ran a hand over her head as he passed out of instinct, which she leaned into happily, but her contentment was short lived. Walter had followed into the kitchen like a baby duck. She had her eyes trained on the other cat, tail whipping back and forth behind her. He, on the other hand, took no notice of her and trailed happily behind Paul. 

The staredown continued as they quickly put the groceries away like a well-oiled machine. Emma unloaded the bags and Paul would sort items into the fridge, freezer, or cupboard as needed. “Tampons. Thanks. I just ran out.” She tossed the box onto the island to lay next to her computer.

“I know. I saw the box in the recycling and figured I’d pick some more up if I could remember.” Produce into one drawer. Meat and cheese into another. Janis watched the new cat rub up against Paul’s legs and then sniff at Emma’s. She jumped down to investigate. Very slowly she approached almost as if she were hunting him. Quiet. Sneaky. For being such a big cat, she was as stealthy as the smallest of them.

“Thanks,” Emma responded, handing Paul a carton of eggs. “That was very sweet and almost makes up for you bringing a surprise cat home with you.” Walter turned to find Janis, peeking around the corner of the island. Intrigued, he pattered over toward her until he was right up in her face. It was not what she wanted or expected. She let out a warning growl. “See, this is why you leave impulsive decisions up to me. Janis is going to kick his one-eyed ass.”

Walter stayed in the same spot as Janis glared at him, back around the corner of the island. With a flick of his tail, he sat down. It was like he fucking owned the place. Very strange. Especially for a cat. She peered around the corner again, slowly advancing toward the new cat. Her steps were calculated and cautious, approaching the newcomer with intense focus. When she was close enough, she just stood and stared at him. He, however, leaned forward to sniff her. In response, she bopped him right on top of his head. He blinked his one wide eye at her. This time, she went in to take a whiff of him. Taking in the different smells. The grocery store. Paul’s car. And one familiar scent that she couldn’t place, but she did know it wasn’t one she remembered fondly. He purred, tail wagging back and forth behind him. 

She could have beaten the shit out of him, but he seemed to dumb and content to even bother with. Instead, she continued around the island and was sure to rub her back against Emma’s legs before scampering off into the house.

“See? It’ll be fine.”

Emma leaned down to scratch Walter behind the ears. “Welcome home, Walt,” she said, her tone softening. “Janis can and will beat the shit out of you, so don’t fuck with her. She’s the real head of this household.” Walter simply leaned into her touch and continued buzzing with happiness. 

And like that: three became four. 


	3. Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul have a very vague discussion about a very important topic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here. Enjoy a thing! Stay safe this work week, friends!

By the time May rolled around, Emma had been getting antsy with staying in the house all the time. She had begun using any means possible to create an atmosphere that somewhat resembled going out. Weekly Skype sessions with Hidgens, who was very excited about the technology. He would usually give her a tour of his house over the camera even though she had been there many times before. She managed to set up Zoom meetings between everyone, so they could all have drinks on Friday nights. Ted usually ended up taking his shirt off, and Bill was always in bed by ten PM sharp.

Not that she minded being in the house with Paul. It was just being shut in generally that made her antsy. Spending the first couple of months stuck in a house together was going to be a real test on a marriage. “ _ Divorce rates are going to skyrocket. Bet you any money.” _ It was not a comforting statement for him to hear from his relatively new bride, but so far, they had no complaints about each other. 

Being forced to constantly be around the other person really made them actually talk about things when they were frustrated. Like when he had no interest in partaking in any of the virtual hanging out and implied that she was being ridiculous. She exploded. “Fucking listen! It’s hard for me to be shut in here all the fucking time, okay? Sometimes… it’s fucking suffocating. Like I could easily just be bouncing off the walls all day or some shit. Things suck and I would love to just go out with Melissa or have dinner with Hidgens, but I can’t. It’s really hard just being here and doing nothing all the time.”

His eyes turned downward. He stood in their bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist after a shower. Beads of water rolled from his hair, down his forehead, and onto his nose. Sad wet puppy vibes all over. “Is it just being here, or did I do something? I don’t want you to feel like things are trapping you here. That’s not--”

“Oh my fucking god! It’s not always you, Paul!” she shouted, throwing her hands into the air. His eyebrows shot up, but he nodded before he retreated into the bathroom. The water turned on. She could hear him start brushing his teeth as the faucet turned off again. Groaning quietly, she rose to her feet. She knew he was thinking. That the cogs in his brain had started to grind into the pits of anxiety. She stepped into the bathroom and stood behind him to look at him in the mirror. “Hey, it’s not you, okay? You’re…  _ fine _ . It’s just driving me crazy to be cooped up in one place, okay? I’m having a hard time just not being able to do things. I’d like to see other people, but I’d even like to just go out to dinner with you. Or just fucking go to fucking work honestly. You and me, though.” She gestured between them. “This is good, okay?”

He nodded and turned the water back on, spitting toothpaste into the sink. His hand cupped under the stream. The water was brought up to his mouth to rinse the toothpaste out of his mouth. He swished the water around before spitting back into the sink again and looking over at her. “Okay, sorry,” he responded as he placed his toothbrush back into the cup beside hers. “I just don’t get it I guess, and I don’t want it to be my fault because I can’t fix much else going on right now. All I can change is me and what I’m doing, so I just want to make sure.”

“Come on, big guy.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the bathroom. There were no pit stops. It was a direct beeline to the bed. He glanced back at the bathroom, wanting to turn around and turn the light and fan off. Rolling her eyes, she released his hand. “Alright, go on,” she grumbled, pointing toward the bathroom. “It’s going to drive you nuts and ruin the whole mood, so just do it now.”

Moving to flip the switches off in the bathroom, his brow furrowed. “I haven’t gotten dressed yet,” he commented as he turned back to face her. She sat on the bed in one of his t-shirts. Some CCRP company picnic type of thing. He couldn’t even remember the event he got it at. He couldn’t remember the last time he wore it, but it surely didn’t look as good as it did on her. Her hair was everywhere, growing longer than she liked to keep it because of the quarantine. Since being shut it, she left it down most days and allowed it to remain curly. Bare face, framed in dark curls, staring back at him in the dim light of her bedside lamp. She looked like an angel.

“Then don’t,” she suggested. His face flushed red, and suddenly he felt very uncomfortable in just a towel. “Ditch the towel and get on in here, bud. The water’s  _ just _ right.” She smirked as he fumbled with the towel while stumbling over to the bed. The laugh couldn’t be held back when he nearly slipped on the towel he had just dropped getting into bed. That same laughter was stifled when he kissed her. 

There were some days where his kisses were so gentle, his affection so soft, she could barely tell they were real. Other days there was this fire she could feel coming from his belly all the way between their locked lips. Those days, her head would spin. This was one of those nights. His lips found hers hard, and she was pulled flush against him, her shirt sticking slightly to his wet torso. Her breath hitched in her throat when he flipped them, resituating her to straddle his hips. She thought about some wiseass comment she could make but decided to just pull the shirt over her head instead.

“Emma,” he breathed. A hand ran over her stomach and up her side. “I just want you to be happy. That’s all.” His fingers trailed down her side, over her hip, and lingered at the waistband of her underwear. “I mean, this is all great and everything, and holy shit, you’re… amazing. And the sex has been… out of this world, but I want to make sure--”

“Paul, I’m okay,” she assured, leaning down to kiss him. “I’m not… happy with the situation here. Because it’s like the end of the fucking world and I just want to go out and do shit. But things with you are good. You’re… good.” Their lips met again, soft at first. Tender. Her hands found the sides of his face, and his planted themselves on her hips. She was happy with him. Her inability to sit still and feeling like she wanted to get out of the house constantly had nothing to do with him. She knew his mind often spiraled, and he was always blaming himself where he didn’t need to have any blame. “Just don’t bring home another cat.”

His eyes were still closed. Her lips were still close enough that he could feel each word she spoke. “There goes Tuesday’s plans,” he chuckled, kissing her softly. 

“We could always do this on Tuesday,” she mused. She gripped his chin in her hand, backing up just slightly to be able to look down at him. “Gotta say I’d like it with you on top, though.”

“You’re the boss, boss,” he said. The movement to flip their positions again was smooth. Much smoother than he was on a regular basis. Somehow, he managed to turn the awkward quadrant of his brain off at times in bed. She had no complaints about sexy Paul. He hovered over her, smirking. His hand drifted from down from her cheek. Brushed across her throat and down between her breasts. Traced over her stomach and over her navel. Fingers lingered at the waistband of her underwear. She squirmed.

“For fuck’s sake, enough,” she moaned, shimmying out of her underwear and kicking them off onto the floor beside the bed. She grabbed him by the back of the head and pulled his face down to hers. “I would very much appreciate it if you’d just fuck me, Paul.”

In that moment, sexy Paul left the building and school boy Paul returned. His eyebrows shot up and he nodded furiously. “Okay, yeah,” he sputtered, bending down and kissing just below her jaw. “Yeah, okay.” His lips trailed down her neck and over her throat, leaving small nips in their wake. A high pitched noise left her throat involuntarily as she writhed beneath him. “Okay.”

With her eyes closed, she could hear him reaching over into the drawer of her nightstand. Plastic crinkled between his fingers before the drawer slid shut once again. He pulled his face back away from her neck and focused on the shiny red square between him. The object he was so intently focused on opening. Her mind went wandering. The dreams and thoughts and ideas she had so badly wanted to ignore, to swallow down, were resurfacing. She sighed.

“Hey,” she whispered, reaching down to grab the hand holding the unopened condom between them. He looked up at her, eyes concerned. “You don’t have to--”

“Do you not want to?” he asked, face shrouded in distress all of a sudden. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, you ding dong,” she grumbled. “I want to… I  _ really  _ want to. I just… don’t think we need those anymore.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to understand what she was getting at. Then his eyes opened wide, obviously having figured it out. “Emma,” he whispered. His eyes scanned over her face. He wanted to be sure everything was okay.

“Hey,” she sighed once again. Her hand rested on the side of his worried face. “I don’t know what’s been going on in my head, and I don’t know that I’m really wanting all this shit.” She hadn’t told him about the dreams that periodically continued. Dreams with him and their imaginary children. Each scenario she visualized he was perfect in. Wonderful and patient and kind. Happy. And even if she didn’t know this dream version of him, she felt they were happy. They were a family. A team that had added more members. “But I think… if something happens, then it happens, right?”

The only time they had actively talked about children in recent memory was when she had brought it up drunkenly. And in that instance, she was less wishy washy about the whole thing. She had an idea of what she wanted and asked about it. He would have been lying if he hadn’t thought more about it the longer they were together. Every time he saw her with Tim, his heart ached just a little bit. He saw young couples together with their infants and felt like they were missing out on something.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, barely audible. His eyes scanned over her face, making sure there was no doubt in her features. “You don’t have to--”

“We’ll see where it goes, okay?” She grabbed his face again. “Now, I really want to have sex with you, Paul. And it’s been a while since we’ve gotten to raw dog it, so let’s hop to it.”

He stayed hovering above her for a moment. Taking it all the information that was just thrust upon him. She pulled the condom from his hand and threw it back onto the nightstand. She laid back on the pillow with her hair spread out in curls at all angles around her head. Her eyes read in a complex way. They were dark with lust. Tired with the stress of being stuck at the house all day everyday. But there was also a tinge of sparkle from the excitement of a new horizon. She bit down on her lower lip as she looked up at him. “I love you,” he mumbled before kissing her hard again and hiking her thigh up to slide her further up his hips. 

There was something in him that was almost giddy at the idea of children changing for them. That it was suddenly a possibility. He had never wanted children. Neither had she. Yet here they were skirting around the full discussion but implying that was an option for the near future. The plot twists just kept coming and spinning around his mind.

Also he wasn’t unhappy with the “raw dogging”. In fact, he was pretty satisfied with it. 


	4. Grilled Cheese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma catches Paul by surprise when he thought he wasn't being watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND ON THE SEVENTH DAY I SAID LET THERE BE FLUFF.

Emma liked that Paul usually tried his best to let her sleep in. It was a habit she just couldn’t seem to kick. Mostly because she couldn’t kick the fact that she was a night owl. Even after spending so much time around him, she couldn’t seem to change her habits. He was very much the kind of guy who was ready to go to bed by nine o’clock on the dot. Then like clockwork, he was up bright and early every morning.

He had tried to convert her into a morning person, but after a while, he just had to respect the fact that she wasn’t going to let him win that battle.

Because of their differing opinions on mornings, he was courteous when he would start rolling in the morning. Especially on days when she was off. Once, she found him gently and slowly placing plates back into the cabinet, careful not to make a sound when they made contact with one another. Or when she rolled over one morning to find him back in bed, fully dressed, drinking a cup of coffee and watching TV on mute with subtitles. He explained that he knew her finals were coming up and she was going to be spending less time at his house, so he just wanted to spend time with her. She called him a hopeless, lovestruck nerd.

She decided to take the Friday before Memorial Day off just because really. She had the vacation time, and she was home anyway. Four day weekend on top of an already endless time stuck indoors. The night before she sat down with a glass of wine and the entirety of the first season of  _ Community  _ at about four in the afternoon. At some point, he had walked by, dropping off a glass of water, leaving a second bottle of wine, and kissing her on top of her head. He had quietly ascended the stairs and gotten into bed somewhere in between an episode with Chevy Chase dressed up in a muscle suit and one that was entirely centered around a debate team competition. 

The next thing she knew, she was watching Donald Glover eat a whole large cookie while two women fought over the buff one. It was also four in the morning. She tried her best to be quiet as she trudged into their bedroom. Hitting the bed harder than she meant to--the wine was doing a doozy on her--she could feel him stir. “ _ Emma?” _ his voice was gravelly, thick with sleep. Barely even awake. His hand reached out and rested on her hip. “ _ You didn’t brush your teeth.” _ She grumbled something incoherent and patted his hand before promptly drifting off to sleep. 

By the time her eyes winced open, she couldn’t be sure how long she had actually slept. Just that her body felt like it was thrown against a brick wall, and her head felt like a deflated balloon. Staying up all night and drinking an entire bottle of wine really felt a lot easier when she was twenty-four. Her hand thrust out to grab her phone, looking to check the time. She pressed the button to wake her screen up. Dead. She had forgotten to plug it in when she got upstairs very early that morning. Groaning, she tossed the phone back on her nightstand. 

Rolling out of bed, she groaned and shuffled over to the bathroom. She felt hungover but knew this was not what a hangover felt like. Hangovers for her felt like her head was trapped inside a fishbowl. One where people kept on tapping on the glass no matter how many signs were put up warning against it. One that was being spinned constantly around and around around. She wasn’t nauseous or headachy. Just… bleh.

Spearmint was a welcome refresh on her tongue, washing out the taste of stale red wine and drool. There were plenty of nights she had spent worse off than the night prior. Way more tequila. Way more fun. She looked up at herself in the mirror, toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. Her face didn’t look as tired or haggard as she felt. Still exhausted but not as heavy with it as she anticipated. In fact, she almost looked better and more rested than some of those nights in Guatemala. Nights she spent sleeping with no ambient light or noise. Listening to the humming sounds of nighttime wildlife. She was young and stupid, but damn, she couldn’t deny that ambiance. 

When she first came back to Hatchetfield, she felt like ever leaving what was the most amazing place she had ever been. She spent days, weeks even, backpacking without anyone asking for her. Wondering where she was. She could disappear without a trace. Start over. Yet she still ended up back where she started. The place she so badly wanted to leave. Five years later she was still there. Five years later she had found stable employment that she didn’t hate (she was still holding out for that pot farm). Five years later she was still in fucking Hatchetfield and she was fucking happy. 

From downstairs, she could hear music that had just begun carrying up into the hall, muffled by the closed bedroom door. Odd. Paul didn’t listen to music loudly. Even in the car, it was a moderate volume. She cracked open the bedroom door and could hear the distinct opening guitar riff from  _ Otherside _ by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Also odd. Not the normal song choice for him. Not even the right decade for him.

She slipped out of the room, into the hallway, and down the stairs silently, attempting to take a page out of his book. It wasn’t a successful walk as far as silence went. She had no idea which floorboards creaked and hit every single one. When she rounded down the bottom of the stairs, she realized it didn’t matter. The music was blasting from the kitchen, likely having drowned out whatever noise she made. There was something else sounding from beyond the foyer that she wasn’t sure she was actually hearing or if she was still dreaming. 

Walter rubbed up against her leg as she tiptoed toward the kitchen. She only took one moment to glance down at him before continuing to creep forward. Paul was in the kitchen, likely fixing himself lunch. The grin on her face couldn’t be stopped when she saw him bopping around between the counter and the stove. Not only was he bouncing along with the music, she was pretty sure he was also singing along. Not the drunk singing she had ever witnessed when someone would put on Joy Division or Morrissey. It was real earnest singing, and it… wasn’t bad?

Janis sat beside the sink watching him intently, tail flicking behind her. A grilled cheese plopped onto his plate as the song hit the chorus again, which he loudly sang along with Anthony Kiedis. She was honestly impressed. He had a fine little voice. On pitch. Not too nasally. With a little work, he could have been in one of those musicals he hated so much. The dancing, however, needed a little work quite frankly, so maybe Broadway was off the table. But it was still pretty cute.

He turned around with the plate in his hand, walking toward the island to sit down and eat but froze when he saw her standing there with arms crossed across her chest. “I thought you were in the shower,” he spat out before snapping his mouth shut. “I, um, heard the water running.”

“Do you always do secret karaoke when I’m in the shower?” she asked, walking up to him around the side of the island. “Or is that just a special occasion for Memorial Day weekend?” She picked up one half of his sandwich and took a bite out of it.

“Hey,” he whined, pulling the plate away from you. “You can’t give me shit and then eat my sandwich.”

She shrugged. “That kinda seems like what I just did so…” she teased. “Well, you’re little impromptu karaoke wasn’t too shabby, Matthews.” She patted his chest before she headed into the fridge. Tapping her fingers on the door for a moment, she hummed to herself as she tried to figure out what she was going to fix herself to eat. She lingered, waiting for something to jump out at her. Her brain just felt like mush, though, and everything looked like it took too much effort.

A sigh came from behind her. “Do you want me to make you a grilled cheese, too, Emma?” he asked, placing his plate onto the counter.

She grabbed the milk and slammed the doors to the fridge shut. “Yes, that would be fucking swell,” she moaned, crossing the room to a cabinet that held coffee mugs. With a wink, she shot a finger gun at him with the hand holding her mug. “Glad you picked up on my subtle hints there.”

“I hate you,” he mumbled as he put the half of the sandwich she had taken a bite out of to hang out of his mouth. Butter. Bread. Three different types of cheese. He was serious about his grilled cheese making. The pan he had used was still on the stovetop, so he dropped a square of butter into the pan before turning the range back on. He pulled the sandwich from his mouth without turning around to look at her. “But you do look pretty cute. Tired but cute.”

“And they say romance is dead,” she shot back. “Nothing says adorable like fifth day hair and a shitty paint stained t-shirt.” He snorted as he placed a slice of bread into the now melted butter. Now with a cup of steaming hot coffee, she slid into the spot beside him. “I can’t help that I’m a sex symbol.”

“Easy, tiger. I said cute,” he retaliated.

She took a long sip of coffee, savoring the warmth running into her belly. “That was cold,” she said. “Stone cold.”

“You look like you got maybe three hours of sleep.”

“What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

Tossing her head back, she shoved his arm. “Why the  _ fuck _ are you making lunch at eleven?” she groaned. “Why am I up at eleven? God, I’m going to die.”

“Not allowed to die yet,” he told her. “I’m making you a grilled cheese. Eat and then die.”

“Did you take out a life insurance policy on me while I wasn’t looking?”

“Definitely not, but also don’t get too worried about your brakes making funny noises when you go out next.”

“I’ll haunt your ass so hard.”

“Great, then I’ll be rich, and I can still hang out with you.” He lifted up the corner of the bread with the spatula. “Don’t know how sex with a ghost goes, though. I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Her mouth opened for a retort, but nothing came out. She looked up at him, finding a small satisfied smile on his lips as he took another bite out of the sandwich. Even still, she internally wanted to kick herself when she felt her stomach fluttering, but instead of retreating inward, she wrapped her free arm around his back. “I swear to fucking god if you murder me I’ll kill you.”

“Is this like a zombie thing or are we Thelma and Louise-ing it?”

“Depends on if you can find a convertible Ford Thunderbird or not.”

He flipped the grilled cheese in the pan, placed the spatula back down, and then took his final bite of sandwich. “Maybe we’ll put this one on hold for now,” he decided as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “And for the record, you do look cute.”

“Pfft, fucking sap.”

“I compliment you. I make you food. I offer to make love to you when you’re a  _ ghost _ after I murder you for insurance money. And these are the thanks I get? Unbelievable.”

“You’re making lunch at fucking eleven in the morning. You deserve it.” He took the spatula and slapped it up against her boob. Staring up at him, mouth slightly agape, she couldn’t help but laugh. “What the hell was that?”

He held the plastic spatula up threateningly. His eyes were wide, expression exaggerated. “Don’t try me, Perkins,” he warned. “There’s more where that came from.”

“You got butter all over my boob.”

“Good.”

“Gross.”

“Your face is gross.”

“Got me there.”


	5. Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul wakes up in the middle of the night and finds Emma in a strange place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We love parallels and call backs to other bits of story. That's all I'm going to say here.
> 
> Also just a quick content warning just to cover my bases here! There is some light mention of depression and real hardcore hopelessness. Just proceed cautiously if that's something that doesn't sit well with you.

Paul opened his eyes and everything was dark. 

It must have still been the middle of the night. 

Or maybe he was dead. 

He was hoping for the former. 

There was a time in his life where he didn’t care which one it was. A lot of his time in college. The first few years after. Things felt dim. Not dark necessarily. Just dull. His life felt like it was in a perpetual stand still. It was as though he was a car constantly spinning his wheels to get out of the metaphorical mud. He felt hopelessness most of the time. Like his mother was right when she wished he had been more like his brothers. 

Some days it would have been easier if he just didn’t wake up. His life was just… there. Existing was his primary state. Just coasting. He could remember waking up with a crick in his neck for two years straight when he stayed with Bill, sleeping on his couch. Even when he bought his own house, some of his days felt pointless. He didn’t know what he was working for. What he even wanted in life. Just another cog in some machine.

But for once in his fucking life, he didn’t want to die. Things were good. Work wasn’t terrible. He had friends. Not just one but  _ two _ cats! A beautiful house with a sprawling yard. He was comfortable and content, as he had been just a few years back, but he also had that gentle fire in his belly. Something that he knew he wanted to work for. Something concrete that motivated him. His life was good. He liked his life. 

He reached beside him, feeling sheets and the comforter. A comfort to him because he was pretty sure death didn’t feel like a down comforter. The other side of the bed was cool and empty. His heart sank. Reaching for the bedside table, he clicked on the lamp. Empty bed. His heart raced in his chest as he stumbled to his feet and tumbled to the door, throwing it open. 

It was the long hallway that was open on the far side. A railing stood to protect anyone from falling out of the hall and directly into the foyer. Still the same house. He ran both hands through his hair, something on his one hand catching on hairs slightly. In the light still coming from his bedside lamp he could see the silver glint of his wedding ring. He chuckled, running his hand over his face. “Get it together, Paul,” he mumbled before heading down the hall.

The door to the office was cracked open. A dim light slid through the crack and onto the hardwood floor. He approached it. Quietly. Carefully. It was a strange place for Emma to be if she was up in the middle of the night. Even stranger was the dimness of the light. He had no idea what could have been in there to create such subtle lighting. His footing was light as though he wasn’t even touching the floor as he crossed it. Just an extra precaution in case this was the beginning of a horror movie. Everything felt strange. Different than when he had fallen asleep. 

He softly tapped the door open just a little further. Enough for him to be able to peer in. The room was not what he had set up as his office. There was no loveseat. There were no bookshelves. The walls appeared to be a light purple. Thin white curtains covered the windows on the wall directly across from him. There was a white dresser with leaves and flowers painted up its side topped with stuffed animals. A small bed sat against the wall where the bookshelves once were.

There she was.

She sat with her back up against the headboard of the tiny bed. Her hair had gotten longer. Curlier too maybe? It fell over her shoulders, dark and thick. She propped her head up in her hand and had her eyes cast down. Even in the dim light radiating from the plug-in nightlight across the room, he could tell she was beaming. Radiant. She looked tired, but she had a smile on her face. Her cheeks had filled out a bit. She was the same but just a little bit different all at once.

His eyes fell just beneath her arm that rested against the top of the headboard. He swallowed hard.

A little girl. He wasn’t sure how old. Small enough that they could both fit on the impossibly small bed. Big enough to be sleeping in a bed that didn’t have any sort of protection for a child to not roll out. She wore a set of footie pajamas with dragons on them. She had the same head of brown corkscrew curls. The same small dainty nose. Big eyes stared up at Emma. Wide and curious. Blue as the morning sky. They both laughed quietly at something the little girl had said. 

“Hello, Paul.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a voice he didn’t recognize. When he turned to find a woman he had never seen in his life, he just about fainted. She was short, not quite as short as Emma, but still short to him. Dark curly hair with a streak of grey right at the temple. Sharp jawline. Watchful deep eyes. The more he looked at her the more he was certain he knew her.

“Hello?”

“I figured it was about time we finally met,” she continued, pushing past him to actually stand in the bedroom, formerly his office. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

She looked out fondly at the scene playing out on the bed. Emma’s fingers softly combed through the girl’s hair as she spoke. The little girl curled into her side. His heart was swelling in his chest. A similar feeling he had when he found Emma making breakfast on his birthday and caught her giving the cat a cooking lesson. 

His attention was drawn back to the mystery woman. Suddenly, it occurred to him that it was bizarre that neither one of the bed’s inhabitants had any reaction to her. “I’m sorry,” he started. “Who are you?”

Rather than apologizing or reaching out for a handshake like a normal human, she just looked at him over with a tiny smile perched on her lips. “I’m Jane,” she told him simply. As if that was some common knowledge and he was the one being a dumbass. 

“Jane’s dead,” he informed her, voice growing low and cautious. He took a step closer to her. “You can’t be Jane.”

“And you didn’t go to sleep having a kid, yet here we are.”

He pondered her words for a moment, mulling them over in her head. It wasn’t untrue. He didn’t exactly know what was going on, but it definitely wasn’t how he left it when he went to sleep. Too elaborate and well thought out of a prank for Emma’s taste. Also, the quarantine was still in full effect, so there was no way she was going to obtain any sort of child actor for a middle of the night joke on her husband.

“This is just a peek into what could happen,” she explained, tilting her head to the side to watch her baby sister. The look in her eye was wistful. Melancolic even. Like she was miles and miles away, missing out on everything. “I didn’t think this would ever be a viable option for her, though. She was always too stubborn and impulsive for anything like this. Our mom always told her that when she had a daughter god was going to give her one with the same attitude and trouble to deal with because it was what she deserved. Before she left, Mom told her she hoped one day she would have a child and have to feel the same disappointment she and Dad felt toward her.”

His heart fell into his stomach. “That’s horrible,” he muttered. Emma wasn’t one to really talk much about her childhood. He knew bits and pieces. Mostly the bright points. Day of the Dead. Neighborhood wide games of manhunt all summer long. Going around on their bikes with Jane pretending to be explorers who were on a mission to find lost and ancient worlds. Most of the difficult things stayed buried. The most he had gotten really came from Tom, and even that was minimal. 

“You haven’t exactly had a cake walk either, my friend,” she replied, looking over at him. Now that he was really looking at Jane, she and Emma did look similar enough. He could see where they were related. Same pronounced jawline and high cheekbones. Same deep brown eyes. Same ringlet curls that had the tendency to go wild if left unchecked. “Listen, I don’t think anyone is good enough for my peanut.” Peanut? “But you’ve come close. Damn near enough.”

“Thank you, I think?” he said, tone tilting upward like a question at the end of his sentence. “So is this… like a dream or something? Or have I completely lost my mind? Is this one of those hidden camera shows? What’s going on here?”

Much like her sister, Jane ran a hand up her face and pinched the bridge of her nose with her index and forefinger. “Yes, Paul,” she sighed. “It’s… well kind of a dream. We’ve all got all these options in life. Different doors to choose from. Paths. I don’t know. Whatever you want to call them I don’t care. But you catch my drift, right?”

“I think,” he responded, squinting over at her. “Choose your own adventure kind of deal?”

She shot a finger gun his way. “Yes, exactly. Perfect,” she assured him before looking back over at Emma. “This is an option for you both. Something you’ve both been sitting on for a long time,” she explained.

“A long time. What’s a long time?”

“Since whenever you started having dreams about the kids, Paul,” she deadpanned. “You’ve both thought about it, and it’s an option for you. Not the only one. It’s not always a good option to take. Things aren’t always good, but they aren’t always good when you don’t either. Like a choose your own adventure book, every decision counts, and your choices send you in whatever direction you’re going to go.”

The little girl wrapped an arm around Emma’s middle and buried her face in her chest. Emma froze for a moment, hand still halfway through the girl’s hair. He held his breath for a moment, wondering what was going to happen. When she melted into her touch and wrapped her arms around the girl, holding her tight, he felt as though he were turned into a puddle on the floor.

“She’s scared, you know,” Jane piped up. He glanced over at her. Her eyes were trained on her sister. “Of a lot of things. She puts on a tough face and doesn’t want anyone’s help or pity, but she’s really scared and could use help sometimes. Especially if you choose this option. She’s sensitive and doesn’t think things through. Also that mouth oh my god.” He let out a laugh. “You’re good for each other.”

“I think so, too,” he agreed, part of him not wanting to wake up from this dream. He liked the feeling in this place. It felt full and warm. Like the way a house smells baking an apple pie. Sweet and alluring. “I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s amazing.”

“We get along pretty well, you know,” she said without making eye contact with him. “In other times, where things didn’t end the way they did. We get along really well. It pisses Emma off sometimes. She says it’s because she thinks we’re plotting a way to make her soft and nice, but really it’s because she just wanted to keep us both to herself. She worries that we’ll both realize we don’t need her, and we’ll all end up going our separate ways. The other part of it is she doesn’t like pity. She doesn’t want people to take care of her, but in those times, we know her better than anyone else in the world. We know when she needs help. But at the end of the day, we usually get drunk on Christmas and have a good time. My eggnog’s killer.”

“You make eggnog? I love--”  
“Eggnog? I know. Me too.” She finally turned away and walked back toward the door, squeezing by him so she could walk into the hallway. A hand pat his back. “You take care, Paul.” When he turned around, there was nothing but the dark hallway behind him. Whipping his head back to face the bedroom, he found nothing but darkness again. 

His eyes were closed, heavy with sleep. He forced them open to find he was back in bed. Blinking a few times, he tried to get adjusted to the darkness around him. He could feel the fabric of the sheets around him and the cool against his foot he had stuck out from beneath the blankets. Not dead. Hopefully not dead. The bed shifted beside him. “You okay?” Emma’s sleepy voice asked. “You were grinding your teeth.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he murmured, rolling over to face the door and fall back asleep. “Weird dream.” Jane rolled around in his head. Her words. Her face. It felt very strange. He could handle naked speech in front of his entire high school class dreams or chased by a murderer dreams. Those were normal and could be explained away. He didn’t know what to make of the one he had just woken up from.

An arm wrapped around his middle. She placed a sloppy, half asleep kiss on the center of his bare back. “Okay,” she muttered against his back. “I get it. I have those sometimes, too. Extra weird sometimes. Just go back to sleep. You’re warm, and I need to leech off of you.”

Ice cold feet pressed against his leg, sending a shiver all the way through his body. “Jesus, Em.”

“Mmm,” she hummed without moving her foot. “I like it when you call me that.” He chuckled as he tried to pry her foot off of him. “Oh no, that’s staying. Don’t try me, nerd.” It wasn’t worth it. He smiled and grabbed her hand in his, trying to ignore the icy cold creeping up and down his leg. It was just nice to have her close. 

His thumb ran gently over her knuckles. “Love you, Em,” he whispered.

There was a long pause, and for a moment, he figured she had fallen asleep. Then she wrapped her arm tighter around his middle. “Love you, too, Paul,” she breathed, leaving another kiss on his back. He half expected her to talk about not telling anyone about her being sweet on him. How she didn’t want to ruin her street cred. But instead, there was just silence. Just quiet until they both fell back asleep until morning.

He was fairly certain that he could trust at least one of Jane’s assessments: they were good together.


	6. Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul are growing antsy during the quarantine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is some mention in here about shitty childhoods and parental mistreatment. Nothing graphic. More just mentions of it, but I wanted to give you all the heads up!

“I think you cheated. This isn’t fair.”

Emma and Paul were getting desperate for entertainment on Friday nights. Even he had to admit, he sort of missed getting to hang around his friends. Tim. Hidgens. Jack and Marnie. Hell, he’d even like to sit down and talk with Tom even though he still made him nervous. Tom just had that energy about him. Just being inside the house all the time was making everyone a little stir crazy. Even the cats.

They had resorted to sitting out in the backyard. A fire burned between them, flicking heat up and out into the cold spring evening air. He sat with his legs crossed at the ankles. There was a smirk on his face as he took a sip of his beer. They had stocked up just as everything was going to shit. While the grocery stores were packed, the liquor store had virtually no line. There was an entire corner of the basement solely dedicated to beer and other various liquors. They had been planning to hunker down and then also not have to get alcohol for a very long time afterward. The thing was they hadn’t anticipated being stuck in so long. There was still plenty of booze, as they had spent a small fortune on it (with the mindset of it wouldn’t go bad that quickly so they had time), but the supply of beer was waning quicker than they had hoped. It didn’t stop them from sitting there at the fire with a bottle in each of their hands and several more in a cooler between them.

She sat draped across her adirondack chair. Legs hung over one of the arms. She leaned back to look up at the sky across the other. One empty bottle already laid on the ground beside her chair. She took a long sip of the one in her hand. “I just don’t understand how I don’t get to win these games,” she complained. When he opened his mouth to respond, she held a hand up. “I know it’s not a win or lose game, but the fact that you get to go first just seems fucking unfair.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “We flipped a coin,” he said simply. An eye roll greeted him in response.”We literally flipped a coin.  _ You _ flipped it! How could I possibly have rigged it?” She crossed her arms and took another sip of her beer. A sore loser. That’s exactly what she was, and he was well aware of it. “We could always do something else if you want.”

“Are you admitting that you rigged it then?” she probed without looking over at him.

“No, I most certainly am  _ not  _ saying that,” he told her. “I just can see you’re upset about this and would rather not see you upset, but excuse me for trying to be courteous I guess.” He held his free hand and his three outer fingers on the other hand up in mock defense. Her head snapped in his direction. A harsh glare had perched itself on her face. “Oh,  _ what?” _

“Don’t be an asshole because I called you--”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “You didn’t call me out on shit,” he shot back. “I flipped a fucking  _ coin _ to keep things fair, and you got mad because you didn’t win.” She pursed her lips. A look he knew meant the dragon was about to unleash itself. For some reason, he didn’t care. He pushed on. “You’re a sore loser, and you know it.”

“I’m fucking sorry?”

“Oh, don’t pull that. You know damn well what I said.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Do you really want to fight over a fucking coin toss?” she challenged. More often than not, he would choose whatever door would lead him out, but he hadn’t stopped thinking about that dream since he had it. He thought about that young girl packing a bag and walking out on everything she knew just to escape whatever it was that hurting her. Haunting her even still.

Looking her directly in the eye, he responded, “Yeah, I think I do.” Her head tossed back as she laughed, shaking her head. “Because you do this shit more often than you like to admit, and it’s not right. I let it slide because it’s not worth it, but we’re fucking stuck her so why the fuck not, right?”

“You’re unbelievable right now,” she chuckled, clear traces of annoyance in her voice. “Mister ‘oh, I don’t want to fight about this or that because it’s not worth it’, and here you are fighting over a fucking coin toss. And you call me--”

“You started it, Emma,” he retaliated, not allowing her to put the blame on him for this one. “Yeah, I don’t talk about things. I don’t fight about things because I don’t like to fight. Fucking sue me. Doesn’t make me right. I’m a passive aggressive apathetic douche sometimes. I know my faults.”

“Oh you do?” she threw out there. “You do know your faults, and those top the list?” He snorted, taking a sip of his beer. It was as if to say ‘oh boy, here we go.’ She pulled herself up to sit straight in her chair. “ _ You _ wouldn’t know emotional competency if it came up and bit you in the ass. You spent half of your fucking life depressed, Paul. Then I came in and oh wow! Magically fixed! Do you know what kind of pressure that puts on a person? And you’re fucking oblivious to it.”

For a moment, he just sat there in an attempt to digest her words. In a way, she wasn’t wrong. He had been coasting for such a long time before he actually met her. Drifting through life each day. Going through the motions. “You’re not the only thing that makes me happy,” he challenged. “I’ve got a good life. I have a job that pays me enough to sit and watch TV or read books on the weekend. I’m comfortable… I have…” His words trailed off. What did he like about his life that wasn’t her? His job was okay. Tolerable at best really. His friends all liked her better than they liked him. He wasn’t on speaking terms with the majority of his family. What did make him happy? 

“Listen, I’m okay with where I’m at in life. Do I think there are places I could have excelled more or done better in? Sure. I could have a better job. A more… I don’t know. Fulfilling career? I could be closer with my friends. But I’m okay. I’m comfortable with my life. I like my life here. I come home and feel happy to be here. I don’t wake up feeling like I want to die everyday because that was a pretty extensive period of my fucking life. Is that what you wanted to hear? I woke up every single day on Bill’s shitty couch thinking it would be better if I just died! I come home and I’m happy to have my life. I’m happy to be in a place where my fucking parents never pictured or wanted me to be in.

“And you know what. Fuck you. You make me happy, too. You make me feel like I’m on top of the fucking world because you… you believe in me and push me to do things I would never do. You’re not the only thing keeping me going, but shit, you brought me back to fucking life. There’s nothing wrong with that,” he continued, his voice lowering. His eyes fell to the fire. “You’re not the only thing that makes me happy, but you help. It doesn’t matter if you’re mean sometimes or uncharacteristically sweet other times. I don’t care if we fight or if neither one of us is perfect. I just like it when you’re here. You make things… make sense.”

When he looked back at her across the fire, he could have sworn her face had softened. That it was over. Oh, was he wrong. A deep scowl came across her lips. “That’s a crock of--”

“Oh shut the  _ fuck _ up,” he groaned, causing her mouth to snap shut out of shock. “Emma,  _ this _ is a crock of shit. Why are we fucking fighting about this? Hmm? It doesn’t make any sense. It was a goddamn coin toss. I flipped a coin. No rigging, but you wanted to fight about it. Now, you’re mad I took the bait. What is the issue?” He could tell she was biting the inside of her lip. Something she usually did when she was trying to not give into laughing at one of his stupid jokes, but there was no laughter now. “What the  _ fuck _ are you afraid of, Emma?”

This time her face went blank. Cold maybe. There was nothing to read there. Her eyes had drifted off to somewhere in the yard. She twisted her rings around her finger like she was thinking about something. Trying to find words. “Emma,” his voice was no longer harsh. It was soft. Apologetic. “What’s wrong?”

Her leg began to bounce up and down gently. She looked down at the ground, holding the lip of her bottle to her mouth but not taking a sip. “You know, when I came home… after Jane… died, my parents wouldn’t talk to me,” she started before she actually took a swig of beer. “I came home and no one I knew would actually acknowledge me. Tom hated me and so did my fucking parents. The only  _ fucking _ person who actually would say a word to me was the child. Tim was the only person who wanted anything to do with me because he didn’t know me.

“The last thing my mother ever said to me was ‘I hope you have a child one day who’s as horrible as you’ve been’. Isn’t that fucking something? Mother’s are supposed to be the one person in your life who loves you no matter what, but mine hated me,” she continued. “And Dad didn’t do shit. I don’t think he cared either way about any of us. Just wanted to have something good to talk about at work. Jane was fine for that, so he forgot about me. 

“I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove them wrong. I wanted to be better than that. Better than them, too. Trying to say ‘hey world, I’m good enough. I’m a fucking person’ so hard that I worked at a coffee shop that still only paid me eleven bucks an hour after almost four fucking years. I thought I could get a job and go to college and that would be enough. Like I could flip a big fat bird into hell and tell them I fucking made it. But here I am with a life and a job and a new fucking car and shit, feeling more worthless than ever.”

“You’re not--”

“The last thing I ever said to my dead fucking mother was ‘I always fucking hated you.’ It wasn’t even true. I was just angry. I wanted her to feel as terrible as I did,” she spat out, cutting him off. “I mean, the last words I said to my sister were ‘yeah, sorry I don’t really want to go to that.’ It was our mother’s sixtieth birthday. Surprise party. Jane died a couple weeks later. The only person I had ever fucking cared about, and I pretended that the phone cut out so I could go do… fuck all.

“But I’m here with this life, and I don’t know why. I’ve been a shitty,  _ shitty _ person, Paul,” she told him with both hands grasping her beer bottle. “I don’t understand how I got here. How I have so many people in my life who care about me, and how I actually have a fucking life. I thought I was going to die somewhere on top of a mountain in Guatemala. Except now I’m here back in Hatchetfield. The one fucking place I never wanted to come back to, and now I’m in no rush to leave.”

There was a heavy silence that hung between them. Thick and tense. The fire crackled happily in the night air. Embers flew up into the sky and disappeared. Orange glow fading somewhere into the dark blue of the night. “I think… sometimes we end up atoning for the shitty things we’ve done, and things can… I don’t know. Clear up?” he stated, rolling his beer around in his hand. “It’s like apologizing to whoever or whatever. Backdating your apology maybe. I don’t know.”

“I know you don’t believe that shit,” she snorted, wiping at the corner of her eye.

“Maybe not,” he agreed. “But people change. You were a kid, and you were angry. You didn’t know what words you would say to people were going to be the last ones you’d ever say. You were hurt and needed to find yourself. It’s okay to forgive yourself.”

A deep sigh escaped through her nose. She looked back up toward the sky for a second and then back over to him. “I wish I knew you then,” she told him before shaking her head. “Maybe not. I might have been an asshole to you, and it could’ve gotten ugly.” Closing her eyes, she brought her free hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “God, I’m like the super villain in my own fucking story.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Well, I’m not the hero. That’s for fucking sure,” she huffed. She pushed the tips of her index finger and thumb into the corners of her closed eyes gently. “We’re thinking about having a fucking baby. What kind of parents are we going to be? God, we’ve really got nothing going for us. No good examples.”

“That’s not true,” he chimed in. She opened her eyes to see where he was going with his statement. “There’s Tom. As much as you may not like him, he’s a damn good dad, and he loves Tim more than anyone in the world.” She shrugged, nodding in reluctant agreement. “And I mean, Jack and Marnie drink a little too much wine, but their girls are good. They’re a couple of happy kids. A little misbehaved, but happy. There’s also Hidgens--”

“Hidgens isn’t--”

“Come on, Emma,” he argued. “I’ve seen him give you that stupid tour of his fortress every Friday night and the way you two laugh about the same stupid shit. And, Em, if you could see how fucking proud he is every time he looks at you, you would probably cry. Maybe. He also gave me shit about not liking musicals the first time I met him because he wanted to see how gullible I was.” The final bit about her being the closest thing he would ever have to a child was communicated silently. He didn’t need to seem like he was buttering her up too much.

“Don’t just tell me this shit because you think I need to hear it.”

“Well, you do, but you reassure me of things all the time. My mind’s always racing around about a dozen things at a time. Then when I get caught up on things, you bring it back and tell me why it’s going to be okay,” he explained, taking his turn to twist the ring on his finger. “It’s only fair that I return that to you. Just the two of us reminding each other what’s really going on out there.”

Exhaling what was meant to be a chuckle through her nose, she tipped her beer back against her lips. The carbonated liquid slid down her throat and sat cool in her gut. “Maybe,” she responded. “I don’t know. Thanks, though… for fighting with me.”

“For the record, I wish I knew you back then, too,” he admitted. “I wish I could have spent my entire life with you. I would have followed you all the way to Guatemala, and I’m fucking terrified of flying.”

“Then what do we do when we go to Guatemala?” she asked, her voice serious. He furrowed his brows. “Oh yeah, that’s a thing that’s going to happen at some point. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I want… nevermind. It’s stupid.”

“What?”

“I just kind of want to bridge the gap years there. Tie the chapters of my life back together. Take you to see Lake Atitlán.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s this lake that backs onto a volcano, and it’s so beautiful. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve been to in my entire life. The water’s the coolest shade of blue, and the hiking is killer. But really I could just sit on the water all day and be happy. I did a lot. I spent a lot of time out there. The backpacking was crazy up in those mountains.” She smiled for the first time in a hot minute, gaze drifting off somewhere in the distance. Like she was imagining her time back there. Picturing standing out on the docks or on the edge of a volcano. “Maybe we give you some time to get over your fears, and we bring out kids there eventually.”

“Kids?”

“Kid. Kids. Same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing, Emma. It’s not like a cat where the dynamic is basically the same.” She laughed. A more genuine laugh, a little scratchy from the anger and emotion that had bubbled up in her. But it was nice to hear it. Comforting to see that they weren’t going to bed angry. That the walls were chipped a little bit that night. “For the record, I think you’d make a great mom. You love a lot more than you think you do, and you should give yourself more credit.”

“Thanks,” she said where he anticipated some witty remark. Her eye line had shifted across the fire to him. “We make a pretty okay team.”

He held up his left hand. “For better or worse, man,” he said with a grin spreading over his face.

Her hand smacked up against her forehead. “Oh my god,” she grumbled. “The father of my future children is a fucking nerd.”

“It was the job I was meant for. I’ve been stockpiling dad jokes my whole life.” He paused thinking about the words and narrowed his eyes at her. “How many children are we talking here?”

“Oh, at least ten. Did I not mention that?”

“I mean, do we need to start… like right now? I can make right now work.”

“No, I’m enjoying the fire. Don’t fucking move.”

“We could… do it out here.”

_ “Paul!” _

“Don’t act like we haven’t!”

She scoffed but didn’t play into his scenario any more. Rising, she reached into the cooler and pulled out another beer. The bottle opener in the cooler had been made icy cold, but it did the trick. She plopped down into her seat and found him staring at her. “What?” she asked, glancing back and forth. As if none of what had just happened transpired at all. 

“You are good, by the way. You’re more than good enough even if you don’t always win at things or you fuck up. You’re human, and we fuck up now and again. Sometimes pretty bad fuck ups. Most of the time stupid shitty little fuck ups. But you acknowledge that and you move on. You’ve felt guilty for long enough. It’s okay to move on and forgive yourself.”

Pursing her lips once again, she broke her eyes away from him. Her teeth bit against the soft flesh on the back of her lip. Holding back. “Thanks, Paul,” she whispered, taking a quick mouthful of beer to swallow down hard. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all you can do,” he confirmed. “Try, and when that doesn’t work, you get back up and try again. It’s an uphill battle, but you keep going.”

“For someone who’s so emotionally constipated, you really are good at this shit.”

“Just because I don’t talk about all that much doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it, smartass.”

“Well, you should rig coin tosses more often. We should do this again some time.”

“Maybe we could… I don’t know. Just talk like normal humans?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“You drive me nuts sometimes, you know that?”

“I know. I’m really pushing it now that we’re passed the annulment period. You’re stuck with me, motherfucker.”

“Hey, I’m not one of those yet.”

_ “Oh my god.” _


	7. Haircut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma takes a trip after the quarantine is over to visit an old friend and brags to Paul about finding toilet paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope I was able to capture our fave kooky professor's voice. He's a tough one to do.

When stores began to open back up again, the first thing Emma did was stop by the grocery store and buy a razor and a can of Barbasol. The second was driving over to Fort Hidgens, so she could shave the small creature that had made a home on his face. There were still limitations on what was allowed and how many people were allowed to be in close quarters at a time. She was aware of that and willing to respect it. Hidgens, however, needed to be groomed. And he had spent more than enough time in isolation that she knew he needed to be brought back to reality.

The fortress was something else really. It was very angular. Looking more like an office building than someone’s house. The house itself sat about a mile off of the main road, which was gravel, so it barely counted as a “main road.” Then there was a tall gate. She often wondered how he went about commissioning someone to build such a thing. Also how he was able to get mail. When she finally pulled up to the house, the familiar concrete blocks and deep set windows were such a welcome change of pace she thought she might cry. 

She called Hidgens to let him know to buzz her in. Before leaving the car, she twisted around in the driver’s seat to snap a picture of the two packs of toilet paper in the backseat with a gif of Michael Scott saying: “Am I a hero? I really can’t say, but yes, I am.” She tapped send and then made her way to the door, which was unlocked for her. It clicked into a locked position again once she was in. “Hidgens?” she called. The house was dark, as it usually was. Quiet. Though she could hear the faint tinkering of a keyboard. God, she hoped he hadn’t actually gone and lost his mind since the last time they got on Skype.

His kitchen was very… yellow. It looked like something ripped right out of the seventies. For all intents and purposes, it had been. There was no way he had kept up with interior design fads since he moved into the place, so that made sense. She dropped her bag full of grooming tools onto the linoleum countertop. Leaning around the corner she looked to see if he was sitting at his dining room table. Nothing. The incandescent lights glowed overhead, but as per usual, the house seemed to just suck up light into nothingness. That was likely because of his lack of windows. It was safer that way, according to him, just in case any of his theories came to fruition.

“Emma, do you happen to know who Wilson is?” his deep and well articulated voice came from behind her. She jumped, not expecting to have him sneak up behind her. For an old man, he was pretty light on his feet. Whipping around, she found him standing there. Still in his turtleneck and blazer. A large book on anatomy was tucked underneath his arm and a pack of cigarettes hung out of his blazer pocket. A vice he only gave into during stressful times. She was surprised his lungs hadn’t collapsed during the quarantine. “Are you alright, Emma?”

“No!” she shouted, shoving his shoulder. “You scared the shit out of me!” He didn’t even look like himself. Hidgens was always a well kept man despite his… eccentricities. His hair was always neatly cut. Face always clean shaven. But the hair had grown long and wiry, curling at the base of his neck. The beard impressed her, and if maintained, probably would not have looked terrible. As it was, however, he looked homeless. Or at the very least like a man who had been put into a deep sleep for the past ten years and just woke up still in his very outdated seventies attire, looking like he was about to grab a drink with James Brolin and Lee Majors at a bar with velour seats and smoke filled air. “Look at you, you fucking cave man!”

“I was deep into the creative process. Don’t you understand, Emma!” he replied, grasping her shoulders. His eyes were a little wider than they would normally be, and in that moment, she was a little nervous that he really may have lost her mine and lured her there to trap her into listening to his full musical. But as quickly as he looked absolutely insane, his brow furrowed and eyes filled with concern. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Yes,” she said, glancing around them and behind him. “Why?”

“Because your nose is bleeding,” he stated as he released her shoulders and ran off to the other side of the kitchen. From a drawer beside the sink, he pulled out a rag, which that particular drawer seemed to be filled with. He flipped the faucet on, holding his hand under the running water until it turned warm before placing the cloth under the water. Taking long strides back to her, he gingerly placed the wet rag beneath her nose. When she looked down, she could see the white cloth slowly turn red. How fucking embarrassing.

She wanted to say something but felt frozen there. He held her face up with his hand gently propping up her chin. Dabbing the rag occasionally to see if the bleeded had subsided. His caveman face was drawn tight in concentration. Maybe a touch of worry as well. It was not a Hidgens she was used to seeing. The kooky, overly enthusiastic albeit a touch mad professor was who she had been expecting. Not this. “Does this happen often?” he asked, rolling the cloth underneath her nostril.

“Not usually,” she told him while trying her best not to move her chin too much. “Second time this week, though. Maybe I’m dying.” He closed his eyes for a moment, sighing but not moving the rag from her face. “What?”

“I doubt you’re going to be dying any time soon,” he responded, but his voice wavered. Not something she was used to. The man was loud, boisterous even. Booming voice that carried across a lecture hall. Clearly having dabbled in the theater at some point in time. He was eccentric and excitable. This man was quiet and concerned with her well being clearly. She thought about the things Paul had said about him. “Have you had any other symptoms of… well, death?”

“I don’t think so,” she told him honestly. “I mean I’ve been a little tired and maybe a little light-headed, but I just went back in to work this week. So it’s probably that.” He nodded, pulling the cloth from her face. When he bent down to get a closer look at her face, she realized how tired he was looking. Maybe he had just gotten older during the quarantine, but she was fairly certain he just looked exhausted. “Are you okay, Hidgens?”

“Yes,” he responded before taking a quick leap over to the sink, where he dropped the now bloody rag. He turned around to face her, looking more like Hidgens than the crazy or concerned men she had just witnessed. “It’s very nice to see you, my dear. Easier to see you too from less than six feet away, though I will say I was honored to have been invited to your impromptu nuptials.”

Laughing, she shrugged. “You were going to be there no matter what, you old coot,” she chuckled. A realization hit her all too suddenly. One she would have to admit to Paul as much as she didn’t want to. Mostly because he had been right. Hidgens had always been fond of her. Consistently kind when she was still just as guarded and hard as when she left town. He had helped her when she didn’t even want to reach out for it. Encouraging her when no one else was around. Hell, he helped her get into the job that she actually enjoyed. Even if it wasn’t pot farming. “You’re like…” She trailed off. Talking about how she felt wasn’t something comfortable, but even for someone who was used to being fairly secluded, total isolation had done a number even on Hidgens, who thrived off of his kooky aloofness. “You’re the closest thing to a dad I have, so of fucking course you had to come, okay?”

There was a beat of silence between them. When she looked up, he was staring intently at the old yellow tile on the floor. He wasn’t a man of feelings either, which is probably why she enjoyed being around him so much. They had a mutual understanding that they cared about each other, but it wasn’t something that they actually verbalized. Just an emotionally constipated girl and her equally emotionally constipated father figure. “Well, that was kind of you, Emma,” he finally said, clearly uncomfortable. His eyes remained trained on the floor. “I care about you very much, and I was… touched.”

His discomfort was visible. Hands were shoved in his pockets. Eyes wide and staring at the floor. Nostrils flaring. “Wilson is the volleyball in  _ Cast Away,” _ she piped up as desperate as he was for a change in topic. He finally looked up at her clearly confused, brows knit together. “Your students keep asking you about Wilson right?” Slowly, he nodded, suspicious as to how she knew what he meant to ask when she first came into the house. “You look like you’re fucking homeless… or like you’ve been stuck on an island like Tom Hanks in fucking  _ Cast Away.” _

With pursed lips, he nodded. His eyes narrowed, thinking about what she said. “I have never seen that film, so I suppose that would be why it never made much sense. Thank you, Emma,” he muttered, voice beginning to fade off into another thought in that moment. His gaze scoured the floor as if he was looking for answers as to what he was feeling. Brows shooting up, he looked back at her, a small smile peering out from beneath his overgrown mustache.

“What?” she uttered, her own look of confusion and concern coming over her. All he did in response was stare at her, blue eyes shining. “Hidgens, what the fuck are you looking at me for?”

“No reason,” he insisted, shaking his head again, but the expression on his face remained. “How’s Paul? Is everything good? How is Miss Janis? And young Walter?”

She reached out and grabbed her bag off of the counter. “Fine. Everyone’s fine, weirdo,” she answered. Shoving him forward toward the dining room, she took her turn to shake her head. “I think that beard is fucking with your brain. Let’s go.”

“I thought it looked distinguished.”

“You look homeless.”

“That just seems unnecessary, Emma.”

“You looking this fucking disheveled is unnecessary. Now, sit.”

He sat down in one of the chairs, and she almost immediately went to town on his overgrown locks, grey tumbleweeds falling to the ground. She was very gentle with her movement. Careful with each cut she made. At a certain point, she kept bending down, so her eyeline was level with the hair cute. To be sure everything was neat and even. “You received a message from Paul,” he informed her as she trimmed his bangs. “Do you want me to see what he wants?”

“Sure go for it. Just don’t move.”

Pulling her phone off of the table, he squinted at the screen. He moved it further and closer from his face trying to find the sweet spot where his eyes would be able to make out the message. “It appears to be a silent video of a young African American man shouting ‘huzzah!’,” he explained as best he could. She ceased with her cutting for a moment to glance at the phone screen, letting out a guffaw when she saw the image of Donald Glover as Troy Barnes shouting that exact word. “I don’t understand why you two are the way that you are.” Which was a true statement. He didn’t quite grasp much about the youth. Outside of the college, he didn’t interact with them much. Mostly because before Emma, they had no interest. He was a kooky biology professor at a community college. Most people went to class and then left without another thought.

Then she brought him his groceries the week of Thanksgiving one year when he was sure a popular toy was going to bring about world war three. He had been so grateful and didn’t know how to repay her. She continued to come back to see him after she didn’t have him for class. Then after she had graduated. There she was years after they had met, cutting his hair after a global pandemic.

What a strange world he lived in, despite how many times he predicted it was going to end.


	8. Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul wishes he could work from home more. Emma wears a yellow shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two in one day, friends! How about that!

The one thing Paul really wanted to take from the time in quarantine was working from home more often. He really didn’t mind just rolling out of bed and eating breakfast while he worked in his pajamas with his hair a mess. It was great to be able to go out again and actually find toilet paper and napkins. That didn’t go unnoticed. He just really enjoyed the relaxation that came with working from home. Also, getting up and spending his mornings with Emma wasn’t too bad either.

There was something nice about coming home and finding her there already, though. Half of the time, he arrived home before her, but there was the occasion both before and after the pandemic where she would be there when he pulled up. He pushed through the front door into the foyer, which was still well lit with the setting sun shining through the various windows. Kicking his shoes off to lay next to hers, he bent to the side so he could peek into the kitchen. “Hey,” she called out as she leaned over the island and scrolled through her phone. “I just got home and have no fucking clue about dinner. Leftovers okay for you?”

He hung his suit jacket on the banister before heading into the kitchen. “Yeah, that’s fine,” he responded, rolling his sleeves up. It was a struggle to not reach out and grab her butt. The jeans were a good pair. Her hips and ass looked phenomenal in them. Another pair of dark jeans. Tight against her legs. If there were ever a moment that truly showed he was an ass man, it was that moment. 

Not that the rest of her didn’t look good too. She was fantastically tan because, as he learned during the quarantine, she  _ did _ in fact garden topless. The explanation was simply that the tan was even when she could go out there without a shirt on and she had “ _ nothing to hide.” _ Her arms were getting toned again after the gym lapse during the lockdown. They did what they could at home, but it wasn’t quite the same as hitting the gym. The tone had returned to her now incredibly tanned arms. That skintone was accentuated nicely by the yellow sleeveless top. He had the hottest wife in the world. “You look good today,” he commented offhandedly, opening up the fridge.

“You buttering me up, Paul?” she mumbled, still engrossed in her phone. Pulling a beer out of the refrigerator, he hummed a noncommittal response, which received a small grin from her. “Melissa has a new girlfriend.”

“Oh yeah? Good for her.” Good on her for not mentioning anything at the office. Ted didn’t believe in having a Facebook. He was pretty sure that the government was watching everything he did anyway and didn’t need Mark Zuckerberg helping with that. Yet he still had Instagram and Twitter. Everyone had just concluded he was an idiot. An idiot that had made fun of Paul for having a picture of him and Emma in a frame on his desk. A picture with his wife. He was made fun of for that.

“Yep, some military chick,” she continued. “Looks a little like Nora honestly, but whatever. We have different taste in women I guess.”

He arched a brow. “Oh? And what’s your taste in women exactly?”

“Eh, tall. Hair color doesn’t matter. Nice lips. Nice ass,” she babbled on. Her eyes drifted up from her phone to him. “Really, you if you were a woman would fall like a bullseye there.” He tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowed. “What? I’ve hooked up with a beautiful woman or two in my day, and I’m not ashamed to say it was fucking good.”

“You’re just full of surprises aren’t you?”

Shrugging, she stood from the counter. “I don’t know. I spent a lot of time doing a lot of shit over in Guatemala,” she explained, grabbing the beer out of his hand and taking a sip as she passed. “Not all men are as desperate to please as you are, Paul. You’re a rare fucking breed.” She put the bottle back into his hand and patted his chest. “Plus, some of those girls were smokin fuckin hot. You wouldn’t have thought twice either.” 

He was almost embarrassed about the heat building in his gut imagining her traipsing about Guatemala with her slew of female lovers. Instead of speaking, he took a sip of beer. “Fucking look at you, you dope,” she laughed as she cracked open her own beer. “Getting all hot and bothered over here! Or embarrassed. I can’t ever really tell. They look about the same in the beginning.”

“I’m not… either of those things!” he argued, willing the blush burning across his cheeks back down. “I just… I didn’t know is all. That’s it.”

“Oh don’t try to play all cool,” she teased while moving to stand across from him, leaning back against the sink as he did the same at the island. “Don’t tell me there isn’t one dude you’ve thought about doing the nasty with. If you told me there wasn’t, I’d call you a fucking liar.” He pursed his lips. Not because he didn’t think he had an answer for the question, but because he had never thought about it. At least not at any length. “C’mon, Paul. Just one.” HIs eyes drifted to the floor, raking over her body in the process. She was looking really good. He was pretty sure the shirt hugged her chest a little more than before, but it was probably just the way she was standing. “Here, I’ll give you mine. Olivia Wilde has always made me curious, but Jennifer Lopez is always a classic fave.”

The rolodex of male celebrities was malfunctioning in his brain. He was still stuck between imagining a young Emma running around Guatemala and current Emma looking fine as fuck right in front of him. It was really a terrible time for him to actually be trying to use his brain. “I don’t know. Maybe Ryan Reynolds?” he offered, unsure of his choice.

“Okay, why Ryan Reynolds? A good choice, by the way.”

“I don’t know.” Objectively, Ryan Reynolds was an attractive man. By all standards, he was an ideal choice for a celebrity crush, but why? He couldn’t even pull a reason out of his ass. “I don’t know… he’s got a really good body and… oh! He was all sweaty and bearded in that  _ Amityville Horror _ remake.” The man was a handsome human, but he still couldn’t grasp onto why he had been the first choice.  _ Deadpool  _ was great and all but… then it hit him. “Ah fuck.”

“What?”

“Promise not to be offended?”

“I can’t do that, but continue.”

“He, um, kind of looks like you a little bit,” he elaborated slowly. His face pinched up embarrassed and he tried to put on an apologetic smile. “But not because you look like a man. That’s not what I was going for at all! Just because you both have these really nice brown eyes and smiles. I mean, your teeth are better but still. And the jaw. It’s all very--”

“Paul,” she started, placing her beer onto the counter behind her. Their eyes caught in a serious gaze. This was it. This was the moment she finally punched him in the face. “That might be the nicest compliment you’ve ever given me.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“Ryan Reynolds is a beautiful man.” She closed the gap between them and gave him a light pat on the cheek. “It’s nice that we see each other in our celebrity crushes.” Did he have a crush on Ryan Reynolds? He was seriously questioning it now because he hadn’t thought about it before that moment. Maybe he did? It was all very confusing at that moment.

“Did you say I look like Olivia Wilde? Or J-Lo?”

“Well, I’d say you’ve got a J-Lo-worthy ass and Olivia Wilde’s interesting face.”

“Love that you think my face is interesting, Em. Real confidence booster.”

She grabbed his chin in her hand, forcing him to look her in the eye. “You know I think you’re attractive, so cut the shit, Paul,” she warned. He wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something about her that night that was driving him nuts. Maybe it was her going around doing whatever and whoever the fuck she wanted in her twenties. Maybe it was the shirt he had seen her wear before. Maybe the jeans. He wasn’t sure, but he was tempted to just grab her right then and there. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“Um, you?”

“Are you being gross?”

“What? No!” he spat out. “I’ve just, um, been thinking about your butt since I walked in, and nothing in this conversation has made it easy to stop thinking about it.”

Smirking up at him, she ran her hand over the tie he was still wearing. “You know who else has a nice butt?”

“J-Lo?”

“Yes, but not who I was going for.”

“...me?”

“Also correct, but also not who I was looking for.”

“Um… Ryan Reynolds.”

“Bingo!” She yanked him down to her by the tie, lips pressing together. “I know you’re an ass man, so he’s a really good choice. And you just pulled that one out of nowhere. Great choice,” she commended, her lips brushing up against his as she spoke. “But get back in here now.” 

Kissing her really hadn’t gotten old over the few years he’d been fortunate enough to be doing it. It felt like the warmth of curling up under a blanket in the cold. Like stepping into a hot shower. Like how he imagined that one scene in  _ the Notebook _ was supposed to feel. You know the one. It was electric every time. Plus her nails trailing down his chest over his shirt sent a shiver down his spine. His hands found her hips and pulled them flush against his. “Emma,” he growled against her mouth.

“Hmm, guess we can’t make it upstairs, huh?” she quipped as she leaned back to look up at him. He furrowed his brows in slight confusion, trying to figure out where she was going with her statement. The shirt definitely looked different on her that day, though. He was sure of it. Maybe it was one of the new bras she talked about coming in the mail the week before. The ones she said made her look like she  _ “actually had a rack.” _ He had no complaints.

When he insinuation finally hit him, he squished his face in disgust. “Emma, we make food down here,” he insisted. She tugged him down closer to her face by his tie again. “Em.”

“It’s not like you don’t totally disinfect this place every single fucking day anyway,” she muttered, breath tickling his face. “I would like… no. I fucking demand that you get me up on that fucking counter right now, Paul.”

He swallowed hard. There was a struggle between his brain and his pants going on. He knew that it was incredibly unsanitary, but he also knew that she was incredibly hot. At one point in time, the cleanly part of him would have won that fight, but there he was hoisting her up onto the counter with her arms wrapped around his neck and lips smashed up against his. “Hey, do you wanna get dinner after this?” she breathed as she loosened the tie and pulled it over his head.

His fingers carefully went down the buttons on her shirt. It was a silky material and he knew if he went too quickly he would look like an idiot fumbling all over the place. “Uh, sure,” he agreed, spying a bra he recognized. Maybe he was just horny. It was possible. “What’re you thinking?”

She made much quicker work of the buttons on his shirt and was pushing it open before he was even close to hitting the last button on her blouse. “I don’t know. I’ve kinda been in the mood for Thai food all week,” she said, nipping at the base of his throat. He groaned. “You cool with that?”

“Yeah, sure. Cool,” was all he could reply as he pulled her shirt off and tossed it somewhere behind her before shimmying out of his own. Her fingers gently toyed with the hem of the undershirt he had been wearing. Before she could think about teasing with anything there, he pulled the shirt up and over his head. She laughed and was about to comment on his eagerness, but with one big hand on the back of her head, he pulled her back up to his mouth.

“Thai it is then,” she chuckled into his mouth, hands working at the buckle of his belt. “You know for someone who was hesitant about fucking in the kitchen you sure are pretty into it now.”

“All the talk about Ryan Reynolds really got me in the mood I guess.”

“Oh fuck,” she laughed, having to stop what she was doing for a moment. She tossed her head back, head full of curls bouncing behind her. He couldn’t help but chuckle along with her. Not because he thought what he said was particularly funny at all, but because her laugh was just fucking contagious. It was musical and full of magic and light. He watched her in awe, his laughs fading off and leaving a wide grin across his lips. God, she was beautiful. Out of this world. Out of his league. Yet here this radiant goddess was choosing to be with him. He kissed her again through her laughter. Her giggles buzzed against his mouth, and butterflies met them in his stomach. “You’ve got it bad for me, huh?”

“Yeah, no shit,” he mumbled, barely breaking away from her lips.

“Yes shit,” she challenged, pulling his belt from the pant loops. “Oops.”

“You wanna see if the Thai place can deliver here?” he suggested as he fumbled with the button to her jeans. “I think it’s gonna be a busy night, and it might be easier to just order in.”

She intervened with his button failure and just undid the button herself. “Now, you’re thinking, Matthews,” she commended, catching his mouth in a quick kiss. “We’ll order in. A fucking feast. I’m  _ starving.” _

“Yeah, I’ll say.”

“Fuck you.”

“You sure are trying to.”

“Got me there.”


	9. Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice invites Paul and Emma to Bill's surprise birthday party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THREE! Everybody have a good Friday and enjoy the weekend if I don't get on here.
> 
> I'm very much thinking about just taking the weekend and turning my brain off. We shall see.

Bill didn’t usually do much of anything to celebrate his birthday, but this year, Alice wanted to do something special for him. Somethat Paul knew he wouldn’t be too fond of but didn’t have the heart to tell Alice otherwise. It was a surprise party. Bill was turning forty. A relatively young father for a girl entering her sophomore year of college. She felt bad for not being around so much after going away to school. She and her girlfriend had moved into an apartment not too far off of campus and lived there even when class wasn’t in session. There was no denying that Bill was lonely without her. He constantly told every person who would listen--mainly Paul--about her academic achievements and theatrical productions. It was a constant sense of pride in his daughter, but he was very clearly missing her terribly all the time.

That could be why he didn’t keel over when he walked into his house and was bombarded by all his friends and his workplace associate Ted. The entire drive over Paul aws insistent that Bill was going to go on and on about how they could have given him a heart attack and how he needed to eat more leafy greens and start taking fish oil supplements to make sure his heart stays healthy. Emma just chimed in to complain about how they needed to lay off of the beer because her pants were getting a little tighter than she liked them to be. She was also pretty sure that Bill wouldn’t give that hard of a time about the surprise party.

When Bill cried and thanked Alice over and over again for such a beautiful surprise, it didn’t take Emma long to rub it in Paul’s face. He tried to get defensive because if there was anyone who should have known how his best friend would react to something it should have been him. But somehow she had known what his reaction was going to be before he did. She shrugged it off, muttering something about a woman’s intuition or  _ “some shit like that”  _ before she wandered off to go bother Melissa.

That was how he got cornered by Charlotte and Ted out on Bill’s deck that backed out from the main level of the bilevel. A seemingly harmless set of people to have a conversation with. Ted was terrible, yes, but he wasn’t someone who would generally cause too much stress. The stress he did cause was always anticipated because he was a one trick pony: just a douche. Charlotte was Charlotte. Sweet and simple in what she talked about. What she wanted to know.

What he didn’t anticipate was that not only had Charlotte and Ted been hanging around each other more--thus, having gossiped as much as they wanted--but also they had been trying to corner Paul for days. Trying to get him in the office was difficult. They hadn’t been back to work for more than a few weeks. It was a little tough to find the time to interrogate him during their chaotic days trying to get back into the swing of being at work.

“How’s married life treating you, Paul?” Charlotte asked, taking a sip of the Coke in her hand. “Everything good?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” he replied. He suddenly felt a little uncomfortable with their eyes drilling into him. “Not much has changed. Just some jewelry.”

“And a contract. Now you’re  _ contractually bound  _ to this girl, Paul,” Ted reminded him as he finished the beer in his hand. “I just don’t get it, man. I don’t understand why you would fucking do that to yourself. You saw what it did to Bill. To Charlotte.”

“Ted, she’s standing right there.”

“Yeah, but we’re  _ intimate _ and she agrees. Don’t you, Char?”

She stood there in silence, just quietly sipping on her soda without looking up at either of them. Apparently either not wanting to get involved or not wanting to make one of them angry with her response, but Ted stared at her until she was forced to speak. “Ted, I think it’s sweet,” she admitted. “They really seem to love each other. There’s nothing wrong with getting married, sweetheart.” Paul bit down on the inside of his lip as Ted’s face went panicked. “No, no, I don’t need to do it again, but that doesn’t mean I have to be bitter about Paul’s happiness.”

Ted snorted, waving her off. “Fine, then you’re wrong, too,” he said before turning back to Paul. “I’m just saying, buddy--”

“I’m not your buddy.”

“Well, Paul, I’m just saying that you’re going to get stuck in this thing, and because you’re fucking Paul, you’re going to stay forever and be unhappy,” he continued, despite Paul being insistent that he was not friends with him. The way Ted was talking though was suspiciously sounding like someone who cared, which was not his typical schtick. “You’re going to be stuck in something shitty, and we’re all going to have to deal with it.” There he was.

“Why do you think I’ve made the wrong choice?” Paul asked as he cracked open a Sprite. “What makes you think that this is the most terrible thing I’ve done in the entire time you’ve known me?”

“Because it’s fucking marriage, man,” Ted groaned, tilting his beer back to take another sip. He was visibly disappointed when nothing came out and used that to his advantage. “It’ll just be disappointing when you wake up in ten fucking years and realize that you hate your life.  _ Then _ if you decide you want to leave, you’ll be stuck paying her a ton of fucking money every fucking month. It’ll be fucking terrible.”

Paul turned to Charlotte who was looking more uncomfortable with each word that left Ted’s mouth. “He’s a real hoot at parties, huh?” All she could do was shrug, eyes casting downward. “Listen, Ted.” He turned his attention back to his mustached companion. “I’m happy. I’m, like, really happy with my life. I don’t mind my job, and I get to go home to a beautiful house and a woman who I love and two really great cats.”

“You got another cat?” Charlotte piped up, suddenly more interested in the conversation.

“Yeah, Char, you’ve got to make it over some time soon. You’re going to love him,” Paul indulged her interruption, much happier to be talking about Janis and Walter than dealing with Ted’s pessimism. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, fine! Don’t heed my warning! But don’t come crying to me when shit hits the fan because I--”

“Ted, that’s enough!” Charlotte snapped. Both Paul’s and Ted’s eyebrows raised in surprise at her sudden outburst. Mostly because it was Charlotte. But also because it was Charlotte yelling at Ted, who could get away with the most shit out of everyone in the office. “You leave him alone, and let him be happy.” She turned her focus to Paul. “When are you two thinking about having kids?”

While Paul’s eyes remained wide, Ted burst out into a fit of cackling. “Kids?” Paul uttered, not really sure it was something he should have been or even wanted to be talking about with anyone aside from Emma. It was something very person and very up in the air still. “I don’t know. Maybe never? I’m not sure really, Charlotte. Maybe we’ll get another cat, though.”

“Look, Char, you fucking broke him,” Ted scoffed, tossing his hand in Paul’s direction. “Can you even imagine Emma with kids? She’s such a little shit. No offense, Paul. She’s like a giant kid herself, and full offense, Paul, you’re a gigantic anxious baby.”

“Ted, that’s rude. Don’t--”

“Listen, you just need to drink more,” Paul told him. “I like drunk Ted more. Drunk Ted at New Years kept telling me how excited he was to come to our wedding and how he was going to give a speech that was going to make everyone cry. It’d be a lot easier to be your friend if you weren’t such an asshole all the time.”

“Ouch, Paul, that’s how people start having problems with booze--”

“Then just try being a little less of a douche, Ted,” Paul sighed. “I’m happy. I love my wife. I think she’s fucking great and lightyears out of my league. Just because you’ve spent your whole life as an unhappy prick doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me.”

From the yard below, a loud laugh sounded through the air. “You love me?” Emma shouted from somewhere in the yard. “Nerd!”

Paul leaned over the railing to look down at her. “Yeah, I do!” he hollered back, examining her. “Hey, I thought we were cutting back on beer!”

“It’s a party, Paul! Let me live!”

He chuckled, patting his hand against the wooden railing before turning back to Charlotte and Ted. “I appreciate your concern, Ted,” he said, trying to be a little more empathetic. This poor sap had been pining after a married woman for so long he didn’t know how to do functional relationships. “I think we’ll be okay, though. It’s really good, and if it doesn’t stay going well, I won’t take it out on you guys. It’ll be my own fault, but I have a hunch we’ll be okay.”

“That bitch is pregnant, isn’t she?” Ted accused.

“Ted, she’s drinking beer.”

“Doesn’t mean shit.”

“It absolutely means shit.”

“Ted, give it a rest,” Charlotte grumbled. “Congratulations, Paul.” She yanked Ted’s arm and dragged him back into Bill’s house. 

Paul looked over the rail again at Emma who was standing between Melissa and Deb, having a very animated conversation. She did look a little fuller than normal, but that didn’t mean anything. They had been drinking a lot, but she also had been jumping his bones a lot, too. He didn’t want to think too much about it because it was Ted just being an asshole. 

Emma’s face turned up toward him, and she stuck her tongue out at him. “Got a problem with my beer, nerd?” she called up to him. “Or do you want to fight me? You’re staring real hard.”

“Um, none of the above. Please don’t fight me here. I’ll lose, and Ted won’t let me hear the end of it.”

“Okay, but get your dukes up when we get home because it’ll be on then, Matthews.”

He grinned. Well, partly at her. The other part of the grin was how stupid Ted was. Ted could go fly a kite. Paul was happy, and Ted wouldn’t know what that was if it came up and smacked that dumb mustache off his face.


	10. Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma brings home a manila folder for Paul to read over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that taking a break this weekend thing? I couldn't help myself. I had to do this because I was pretty excited about it.

By the time Emma actually walked into the house, she had been sitting in her car for half an hour. She had just been staring at the front door, biting the skin on the side of her thumb. There was a lot of pressure all around her. It felt like the world was closing in, squeezing her tightly. She really had no idea what her issue was. 

There was no reason for her to be feeling that way. Her life had shaped itself in a way she had never expected. Job. Husband. House. Cats. But it wasn’t something that upset her. Maybe at first it did. Something about the idea of “settling down” had always made her want to vomit. Being tied down to something was just about as appealing as scooping her own eyeballs out with a spoon. Oddly enough, though, the stability she had found back in Hatchetfield of all places was not only comfortable and nice. It was something she had grown incredibly fond of. When it all boiled down, she loved the life she had fallen into. It almost made being tortured by shitty customers and Nora for so long worth it. Almost. (Well, it definitely did, but she wouldn’t even admit that to herself.)

But there she sat, nervously buzzing in the front seat of her car. Another part of her life that she had grown to love. Her little red car. It was zippy and gas efficient. The way it took curves and accelerated right off of a light gave her a giddy feeling in her stomach that she didn’t know she could have while driving. As it turns out, she liked driving a lot. Especially when she wasn’t driving a clunker of a car, which had been on its last leg for two and a half years. 

She buried her other hand underneath her thigh, squeezing it between her jeans and the leather of the seat. Her eyes drifted to the manila folder on her passenger seat. Unassuming and plain. Any other day, she would have laughed to herself and then proceeded to call Paul a manila folder for the rest of the night. Because that was he was and always would be: plain and unassuming.

Paul.

It wasn’t all he was, and she wasn’t even so sure that was how she still saw him. He continued to be frighteningly normal. If she had to find an example of someone who was just the picture of an average guy, at least at the surface, he would be it. He did have his quirks. Like when he would spend his entire Sunday cleaning, and he would actually enjoy it. Mops and brooms and yellow dish gloves. The whole kit and caboodle. Or how he seemed to have a strange, morbid fascination with crime. He watched a lot of documentaries about murders and read a lot of books by Ann Rule. She was pretty sure he listened to murder podcasts on his trips to and from work as well. And he also treated his cats like they were children. Talking with them as if they could understand him. Doting on them. Buying little toys that would ultimately get lost under the couch. As normal as he seemed to be, he sure was a big dope.

When she finally pushed open the front door, folder tucked underneath her arm, she smiled at the sight of Janis perched at the bottom of the stairs. She toed off her shoes and bent down to scratch Janis’s chin, noticing how uncomfortable that particular pair of jeans were getting. The foyer was filled with the smell of garlic and tomatoes. Her stomach growled, and it dawned on her that she hadn’t eaten anything since noon as the night rounded into seven PM.

Music played softly from the kitchen. The Clash’s  _ Jimmy Jazz. _ But it was barely audible. Quiet to the point she was thinking Paul must have gone into the other room to read and wanted enough background noise to make the house feel a little less empty. Then she heard him quietly talking at the edge of the kitchen. His words were so quiet it almost seemed like he was talking to himself. Maybe he was in the middle of a mental breakdown. “No, I’ve got to go, okay?” he sighed. “No… yes, I  _ know _ . Listen… Emma’s going to be home soon, and it’s been a tough week for her. I just… yeah, okay. Bye.” She poked her head around the corner to find him tapping at his phone to end whatever call he had just been on. He was clearly frustrated with whoever had been on the other end. His face was burning pink, and his brows furrowed in annoyance. Upon seeing her, however, his entire demeanor changed. A wave of brightness washed over his features. He smiled. “Hey, you’re home.”

She stepped through the doorway fully, shrugging. “I’m home,” she repeated, plopping the folder onto the island. Whatever had been going on there felt like a welcomed distraction even if it would only be for a few minutes. “Two things: it smells great in here, first. Second, spam callers are really getting to you, huh? You really shouldn’t give them any of your information. They’re going to talk about you at their next robo-overlord council meeting.”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile remained as he crossed back over to the oven, opening it just a bit to check on what was inside. “Funny… no, that was my mom,” he admitted, closing the oven again. “She’s been calling me on and off for the past week trying to get up in our business. Wanting to know when we’d be having an  _ actual _ wedding ceremony. Asking why Jack won’t talk to her either.” He grabbed an oven mitt and reached into the oven to pull out the pizza stone, which had a small pizza topped with fresh mozzarella, basil, and tomatoes. Turning to her, he gave a sheepish grin. “I know you like the balsamic… thing on this usually, but I didn’t know how to make it or where to find it. So this is all I’ve got, but I know it’s one of your favorites. And your week has been really tough and--”

His words were cut short as she piledrove him with a hug, face burying into his chest. She didn’t care that he was taken aback and didn’t return the embrace right away. It was comforting to be there. Face nuzzled into his shirt. Arms wrapped tightly around his middle. When he finally returned the hug, she felt tears prick the corners of her eyes and wanted to punch herself for being so worked up. There was no reason for it. “Are you okay, Emma?” he asked quietly. She shook her head. Pulling away from her, much to her chagrin, he bent down to be at eye level with her. Hands rested on her shoulders. “Is something wrong? What did the doctor end up saying?”

The two weeks before she had been dealing with the worst headaches she had ever experienced. Some were so bad they kept her locked in the bathroom in case the pain got bad enough that she would throw up… again. She had already been feeling exhausted. Work was draining her. Not that there was much going on, but commuting in and being around the office all day everyday again was doing her in. That was her thought at least. She assumed that all the stress and exhaustion was leading to the development of what she figured was a migraine issue. 

She looked at his face, seeing the worry rush into his eyes. Panic even. He was spiraling. “I’m not… I’m not dying,” she told him, mentally screaming at herself to keep her shit together. “And nothing’s  _ wrong _ , I guess. It’s all… things are fucking weird right now, Paul.”

“You’re acting really strange for someone who got good news from the doctor.”

Sighing, she moved past him to pull a pizza cutter out of a drawer and cut into the pie on the pizza stone. “I don’t know,” she mumbled as she grabbed a piece and tentatively took a bite. Her eyebrows shot up. “Did you put pesto down on this as the sauce?” He nodded, still watching her with great concern. “S’fucking good. And to think you couldn’t cook to save your life when we first met.” The look on his face told her that there was no option to change the subject. Usually, he would humor her at least for a little while before getting down to the meat of things. She supposed that health related topics were just slightly more time sensitive in his anxious brain than other subjects. 

“Sorry, I’m starving. There’s stuff in the folder over there. You can look. I don’t care. I mean, I fucking put your name on a form there anyway, so you could call up and get my medical information anyway. Height and weight and shit even. I don’t…” Her words trailed off while she watched him carefully walk around the island, so he could open up the manila folder. He was a quick reader, so she knew it wouldn’t take him much time to get to the nitty gritty of the summary of her office visit. Her heart was in her throat, but she kept munching on pizza despite the fact that she could hear her heart pounding in her ears.

The moment his eyebrows shot up, she knew. The rest of the time he took scouring over the pages, his brows knit together in concentration. Medical jargon littered the page and didn’t make it too simple for the average joe to read whatever was going on there. His head snapped up to look at her. “Emma,” he breathed, looking back down at the page in his hands, which had begun to shake. “Em… what the fuck?”

“She, um, told me the headaches were probably hormonal and that the nosebleeds can happen because of extra blood flow,” she explained quietly. If it were possible, she would have hidden behind the piece of pizza. The way he kept looking between the folder and her face with this strange sense of awe made her face burn red. “She said that I should probably pick up some Tylenol and just carry extra tissues around with me.”

Words still seemed to be alluding him. He closed the folder and placed it back on the counter. With both hands on the edge of the granite, he leaned forward, letting out a heavy breath. It was difficult to tell if he was happy or excited or terrified or about to throw up. He looked like he could go down any of those roads at that moment. “Holy shit,” he finally uttered. A hand scrubbed over his face, lingering over his mouth as he looked back over at her. “Are you okay?”

The question was simple. Normally, it would be pretty surface level and innocuous. Straight forward. Something she was both used to answering and asking. They each liked to make sure the other was alright. An unspoken agreement between the two that they would quietly take care of each other even if it simply in subtleties. Just a simple ‘are you okay?’ was enough. 

This particular instance was different, though. The question remained straightforward, but the way he looked at her spoke deeper than his words did. Worry. Apprehension. Uncertainty. He was dialing back to a different point in time. When things were still relatively new. When she still wasn’t sure if she was going to stay or go. When two stupid lines felt like gallows. Now there was no need to run. Everything was different than before. It was no longer stifling to imagine being tied down. In fact, that was too negative a term to give it. Tied down. Bound. Shackled. Stuck together. They weren’t the right ways to describe how things were any longer. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she said softly, placing her half eaten slice of pizza back onto the pizza stone. “I’m good.” She was pretty sure she was good. Anxious? Yes. Terrified? Absolutely. Okay with the events that were about to transpire? Yes. She was. Another aspect she never thought would be a part of her life. Strange how two lines or a pink plus sign felt like death, but the casual “ _ pregnant: yes” _ in between other descriptions of blood pressure and depression felt like a swarm of bumblebees were buzzing away in her gut. 

“Okay,” he replied, nodding and looking down at the floor in front of him. “Okay.” His brows remained raised, eyes wide. He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay.” She did appreciate that if there was anyone who could be anxious in solidarity with her it was Paul. He was the physical embodiment of being stressed out. “Well, what do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” she said as she picked up her piece of pizza again. “Wait a few months, and then it’ll be like ‘oh shit! A baby!’” His brows stayed raised but he let out a snort. She grinned. “I knew my tits were looking good.” Looking down, she puffed out her chest before glancing back up at him. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled like he was embarrassed to admit he’d been eyeing her chest. Despite his now red cheeks and clearly flustered demeanor, he pushed forward with the conversation. “So do you know when…?” The question trailed off into a smattering of stutters and vague hand gestures. At this point, she couldn’t tell if the red cheeks were because he was embarrassed, anxious, or excited. Maybe it was a combination of everything.

“I don’t know when,” she explained, grabbing another slice. “They couldn’t tell me much of anything. Doc said maybe a month or two along? She couldn’t be sure and I wasn’t much fucking help.”

“You don’t remember the last time you had your period?” he asked as if it were almost offensive that she might not.

“Listen, man,” she warned, pointing the pizza in his direction. “Time lost any meaning it had during the end of the fucking world, Paul. I mean, fuck, it’s almost September already. My birthday’s in a couple months, but it feels like last week we were being told we might die if we go outside without a mask on.”

He held his hands up, conceding in this specific battle. “Alright, I get it,” he said, walking around to the side of the island she was standing by. Reaching around her, he grabbed his own piece of pizza. His chest brushed against her back as he did so. He smelled nice, but backed away too quickly for her liking so he could lean against the counter beside the fridge. “I just wanted to know if there’s… like… an ETA or something?”

With a glance over her shoulder, she smiled at him. “I made an appointment with the gyno next week,” she disclosed as she moved to lean on the counter next to him. “So we’ll see what happens there.” He took a bite of pizza and nodded, but his eyes stared off into the distance, lost in some sort of thought. She leaned in and stood on the tips of her toes to get closer to him. “But I’m pretty sure, when I actually thought about it, the last time I had my period was the end of fucking May,” she told him through an exaggerated whisper out of the corner of her mouth.

That brought his dazed stare right back down to her. “Jesus Christ, Emma,” he grumbled with a cheekful of pizza. “How do you not… you know what, nevermind. I won’t ask.” She chuckled, taking another bite of food. They stood there next to each other for a time. Quietly eating the pizza he had made for dinner. There was a certain hum emotion in the air. Somewhere between elation and trepidation. Two people who, at one point, had little to no interest in the exact lives that they currently had. Married with children was never a description either one of them planned to have associated with their lives. Even at the beginning of the relationship, it wasn’t the direction they planned to go in. 

After a beat of silence, he looked down and nudged her with his elbow. “Hey, I finally mastered baking something,” he said enthusiastically, a smile finally crossing his face.

“Oh yeah, was it the pizza? Because that doesn’t count.”

“No,” he began before leaning in closer to her. The biggest goofiest grin was on his face. “Because I put a bun in the oven.”

She closed her eyes and pursed her lips to keep from gracing his terrible joke with a laugh. “Oh  _ my _ god,” she sighed, tossing her hands in the air. With her hands still in the air, she walked across the kitchen and out into the foyer. “That’s it. We’re done. I’m getting a fucking divorce.”

His footsteps followed her, padding out of the kitchen. “But we’re having a baby, Emma,” he whined after her.

Whipping around, she found herself face to chest with him. “No, no,” she challenged, holding one finger up to wag at him. “ _ I _ am having a baby. You just got to do the fun part, and I have to do all the rest of this shit.”

Instead of trying to come up with some witty response, he just stared down at her. The anxiousness in features had disappeared and something else had taken its place. She couldn’t quite place it. The look was akin to the way he gazed upon her in bed, hovering over her just enough to take note of every part of her. Drinking in each inch of her skin. But this gaze was much less wanton. Less, with lack of a better term, like a fucking horndog. “What are you looking at?” she teased, poking at his stomach with the finger that had been wagging at him. “And don’t say I’m fucking glowing either because I don’t believe that shit. I just dealt with a two day straight migraine, and I’m fucking  _ tired.” _ He tossed his head back with a groan that turned into laughter. When he looked back down, he had that same dumb smile on his face. Full set of teeth showing. Joy touching his big bug eyes. She had it bad for him. Fucking nerd. “I’m going to go take a forty minute long shower and then go to bed at nine o’clock. Would you like to join me?”

“God, it took bringing a kid into the mix to have you start speaking my language.” He leaned in to kiss her forehead with hands on her shoulders. “I would literally love nothing more than that.”

She gave him a quick pat on the cheek before turning on her heel to walk up the stairs. The fact that he lingered in the foyer was not lost on her as she climbed the steps. He was watching. “Oh yeah, take all this in,” she demanded, stopping for a moment to gesture to her butt. “You did this to me, big dick Paul. I hope you’re pleased.”

He brought his fingers to his lips to mimic a chef’s kiss. “My best work yet,” he commented with a chuckle.

“Alright, Barefoot Contessa, don’t give yourself too much credit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little continuity thing I need to address: initially Emma was written to be an aries (end of March-mid-April birthday), but I wrote that thing where Paul makes fun of her for being marginally older than him (an aquarius with a birthday at the end of January). So to keep with the part that I found funnier, I've placed Emma into the scorpio category. It would bother me to not address this, so here we are.
> 
> ALSO BABY????


	11. Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma calls Paul at work and Ted gets suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a break, she says. Post two more chapters, she does.
> 
> Also I'm 99% sure that Melissa doesn't have a last name, so I just gave her one. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The fourth floor of CCRP Technical was stuffy in the summer. It also had the tendency to smell like whatever fragrant food was heated in the breakroom’s microwave the day before. That particular day it smelled like Ted’s leftover fish tacos he so graciously decided needed to be microwaved. Paul didn’t quite understand the thought process that was behind bringing excessively smelly food to work, yet it seemed everyday a different person brought in something that would out-stink whatever came in the day prior.

After everyone returned to the office, Mr. Davidson decided that the floor was in need of reorganizing, so after they returned from their first weekend post-quarantine, they came in to find desks in groups of three across the floor. If not for the personal effects on the desks, they would have spent half the morning figuring out who was supposed to sit where. Bill’s desk had been the easiest to locate. Three pictures all either of or including Alice (her senior portrait, one at high school graduation with Bill, and the third of her and Deb standing in front of their apartment building) and a “world’s greatest dad” mug. Ted had a less than difficult time finding his desk as well. No personal touches save for an empty pack of Trident. Minty Sweet Twist flavored. That left the third desk in the grouping. Paul groaned when he found the photo of Emma and him, nicely posed in the clearly professional shot, at Dan’s wedding and his mug which Emma had a little cartoon drawing of Janis and him printed onto--a Christmas gift that past winter--at the desk perpendicular to Bill’s and Ted’s.

He had been sitting with them for nearly a month, and he was shocked that there hadn’t been a murder yet. Likely committed by him. And in that case, it would have been a double homicide. Between Ted taunting Bill and Bill absolutely falling for it every single time, Paul wasn’t sure how long he would be able to take it. On top of that, every time he opened up his phone and smiled Ted had to know which mistress he was texting. In reality, it usually was just something stupid Emma had sent him. Like a picture of a greyhound looking particularly stressed out while wearing a harness that was labeled ‘nervous’ followed by the message _“found a pic of you.”_

That day, regardless of the fish taco scented air, he sat at his computer, staring at the same spreadsheet for two hours. “Paul, if you don’t quit shaking your leg, I’m going to fucking chop it off,” Ted told him without taking his eyes off of the game of minesweeper on his screen. Ted wasn’t wrong. He had been fidgety all morning, glancing between his computer and his phone screen. The reports he was working on needed to be sent over to Mr. Davidson by the end of the day, and he wasn’t even halfway finished, but he still couldn’t force himself to focus.

Phones rang all day everyday in the office. Mostly Charlotte’s and Melissa’s phone. Charlotte, being office administrator, and Melissa, as Mr. Davidson’s assistant. Bill and Paul, however, didn’t receive even half the phone calls they did as systems analysts. Ted, the resident development liaison, however, had his phone ringing off the hook, which made it even more puzzling as to how he managed to make so much time to cause trouble. Sometimes, the phones would be going so loudly and so constantly all day that Paul wouldn’t even realize his own phone was ringing. This day, though, he heard his phone loud and clear and picked it up before the first ring was through.

“CCRP Technical, this is Paul.”

“Hi, Paul, what’s your favorite scary movie?”

A grin spread wildly across his lips. “Uh… Halloween. You know, the one with the guy in the white masks who walks around and stalks babysitters,” he responded to the overly exaggerated low female voice on the other end of the phone. “What’s yours?”

“The fucking traffic trying to get over the Nantucket Bridge,” Emma grumbled over the bluetooth in her car. “How’s your morning been?”

He clicked a pen against the desk in front of him, looking at the half-filled spreadsheet once again. “Eh, mildly productive. Looking forward to five o’clock, though,” he said, leaning forward in his chair to make it look like he was working. Ted was already leaning back to snoop on him.

“Want me to kick Ted’s ass for bringing fish tacos in yesterday?”

“ _Please_ , you would be rewarded generously if you did.” She laughed on the other end of the phone before laying on her horn and screaming at someone on the road with her. “You good over there?”

“Yeah, people just drive like assholes. I almost miss staying home every day,” she replied harshly, the road rage lingering in her tone. He could hear her accelerate and then quiet down to a normal speed again. “Want to hear about the appointment?”

“Yes, absolutely I do.”

“Well, first off, I apparently have great birthing hips,” she began. He leaned forward onto his desk, resting his chin in his hand as he pushed his weight onto one elbow. “The doctor seemed to be really stoked about that because I’m fucking small, and I told her you were 6’1”. Said if I didn’t have the hips she might be a little more concerned for me actually pushing out a big sucker.” His hand clamped down over his mouth to keep from laughing as he saw Ted’s face poke around his computer screen. “Then she commended me on being fit _as fuck,_ which, like, duh.”

“Yeah, duh,” he repeated with a chuckle, raising his brows when he made eye contact with a suspicious Ted.

“Right? She told me that being in shape is probably going to help me in the long run, so that’s great. At least the gym has been worth it for more than you staring at my ass.” A hand came up to cover his eyes, hoping to god that his face wasn’t as red as it felt. “Oh yeah, bud, I’ve noticed.”

Her end of the phone went quiet for a moment. He sat there, his hand moving from his eyes back to his mouth. Fingers tapped against his cheek. “Hey, so what’s the word?” he asked in an attempt to keep his language as vague as possible. Not only had they kept the news to themselves, but he certainly wasn’t about to have Ted or Bill know quite yet. Bill wouldn’t know how to keep his wonderfully sweet mouth shut, and Ted wouldn’t know how to say anything that wasn’t shitty and stupid. The latter, however, was watching him like a hawk. Trying desperately to know what was going on with his deskmate.

“Well,” she started slowly. It was evident that she knew what she was doing. Drawing out each thing she said to drive him bonkers especially because Ted was there, ready and willing to spew shit at anything he brought to the surface. “We’ve got a date.”

His heart sped up in his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yep.”

The line was quiet once again. God damn this fucking little shit. “Come on,” he whispered. “Don’t do that.”

“March thirty-first,” she stated. Simple. Nothing more than that. He didn’t need anything more than that. March thirty-first. Spring. Glancing at the calendar on his desk, he took note of the current date: August twenty-eighth. “Oh, also make sure you’re available September tenth at one. If you want to be at least.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, do you want to see a blurry picture of your kid that looks more like an alien than a child or not?” she asked. From her side of the phone, he could hear her put her car into park. She had gotten to work and sat there silently waiting for an answer from him, but unfortunately, he wasn’t picking up what she was putting down. “Oh my god, Paul, do you want to go to the fucking ultrasound appointment or not?”

“What? Oh! Yeah! Yes… yeah, okay. I would. I would like to do that, yes,” he babbled, still dwelling on the first date she had given him. He was busy thinking about March. About how far away it was. “I can be free.”

“Jesus, good,” she laughed. “I’m going to go back into work, but I’ll see you at home. Get all your shit done.” He could hear her phone go from bluetooth to the phone itself. “If you need me to come beat the hell out of Ted, you let me know. I’m a little ragey today, so I’d be real fucking down to punch someone.”

He glanced over at Ted, whose eyes darted away from him and back to the computer screen as soon as contact was made. “Will do,” he assured her. “I might be a little late if I can’t get all this stuff done. I’ll let you know.”

“No, leave it a surprise. I’d love to worry about you dying in a fiery car crash,” she deadpanned. Somewhere in the distance, her car locked with a loud honk. “If you are running late, can you pick up food? Actually even if you aren’t, do you want to do burgers from the general store? Those sound so fucking good today. Just a nice burger with swiss and pickles. _Fuuuuck.”_

“I can manage that.”

“Good, you’re my only hope, Obi Wan,” she muttered as the door to her building beeped open with her keycard. “Okay, I’m going to go actually do my job. Please do yours, so you don’t get fired, okay?”

“Aye aye, cap’n,” he laughed, making full on uncomfortable eye contact with Ted. “Alright, Em. I love you… and text me that burger order because it was… really weird.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled. “Hey, Edith. Okay yes, love you, too. Don’t come home without burgers. Bye.” The phone line went dead, and he gently placed the phone back on its receiver. His gaze stayed on it for a moment, smile beaming. 

He turned to his computer screen to minimize the spreadsheet he hadn’t been working on anyway. Outlook opened, and he clicked into the office calendar, first skipping to September tenth. He made a note: _Paul- half day._ Then he tabbed into his own personal calendar. The mouse clicked frantically all the way to March. His mouse hovered over the thirty-first for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. _Baby ETA._ He hit save and quickly exited out of the screen just as Ted’s head peeked around the corner. “What’re you smiling at, you dingus?” he mumbled, eyes combing over the spreadsheet that was open again. Eyes narrowed, Ted turned back to him. “I’m watching you, you shady bastard. I think something--” As if there was a god above who was smiling down at Paul, Ted’s phone rang just in that moment, which he begrudgingly answered. Just in time for an IM to come through from Melissa.

**_Melissa Bailey:_ **

_Paul._

**_Paul Matthews:_ **

_Melissa._

**_Melissa Bailey:_ **

_Is this a joke?_

**_Paul Matthews:_ **

_...I don’t know. Maybe?_

**_Melissa Bailey:_ **

_I swear to god Paul if it’s a joke I’m going to be so mad._

**_Paul Matthews:_ **

_I swear to god I have no idea what you’re talking about_

**_Melissa Bailey:_ **

_“Baby ETA” if you’re joking or this is code for something I’m GOING TO BE SO_ _MAD PAUL_

Paul’s eyes went wide, and he looked across the office right at Melissa who was staring back with a huge open mouthed smile. How did he fucking forget that she could see everyone’s person calendars? She talked about browsing through them on the regular when she was bored.

**_Paul Matthews:_ **

_Melissa please PLEASE do NOT tell anyone. Please. Not even Emma. Don’t tel_ _l her you know._

**_Melissa Bailey:_ **

_What’s in it for me?_

**_Paul Matthews:_ **

_I don’t come in a miserable wreck for weeks on end and it doesn’t domino into Ted being_ _an even bigger jerk than normal._

**_Melissa Bailey:_ **

_Fine but I want details. Especially about that half day in a couple weeks. Keep_ _me posted._

**_Paul Matthews:_ **

_Let me be clear. No one knows about this. DO NOT TELL ANYONE MELISSA_ _OR EMMA WILL END ME. Do you understand?_

**_Melissa Bailey:_ **

_This makes up for not being invited to the wedding. Secret’s safe with me._

He looked up and over at her again. This time around she was miming locking her lips and throwing away an imaginary key. Nodding, he turned back to his computer fully prepared to get back to work when his phone buzzed again. _Emma Perkins 1 New Message._ Upon opening the message, he couldn’t hold back the snort. It was a picture of Skeletor with an arrangement of pink flowers around him. Beneath him, there was a ribbon of text saying: “I am not nice.” The message read: _“gonna get this tattooed on my asscheek. can’t wait for that reveal babe.”_

“Stop laughing at shit,” Ted muttered as Mr. Davidson strolled out of his office. Leaning forward and bringing his voice down low, Ted glared at Paul. “What the hell are you up to?”

Paul leaned in to respond to him. “Nunya,” was all he said.

Ted narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Nunya fucking business.” With that, Paul sat up straight again and pulled open his actual work that he really needed to get finished. Though he did have to say, it was a plus listening to Ted grumble to himself about figuring out what was going on. His mind wandered off to March as he mindlessly began to enter stats into the various cells in the sheet. It didn’t take too long for his eyeline to find the photo on his desk. The picture was nice, and it still seemed to shock Emma that he didn’t use it as his profile picture on Facebook. They stood posed out in the main hall of the venue where Dan was married. A beautiful, ornate foyer that was lined with a shiny pale marble. Against the white backdrop, his navy blue tux really added a pop of color, and the gold of her gown seemed to glitter even in the still frame of the photo. She looked out at the photographer with a wide smile, leaning into him, one arm wrapped around the front of his waist. He, on the other hand, was gazing down at her. Nothing but adoration peering down at her. His hand rested on the bare small of her back, holding her close to him. 

The soft smile returned to his face as he looked back at his work, marching onward so he could get out of work on time and get home with those burgers.


	12. Groceries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul hit up the grocery store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, friends!

“Do you want to hit Main Street Market on the way home? I was thinking we could make something for lunch and dinner,” Emma suggested as she scooted out the front door of Lakeside Obstetrics & Gynecology. Paul had attempted to get the jump on opening the door for her, but for someone so small, she moved so quickly and was able to push the door open, keeping it propped open for him to walk through. “Or we can go pick something up, but I could  _ kill _ for some fresh fucking tomatoes right now.”

His mind still felt like mush. He didn’t like the way doctor’s offices smelled. It was always something between sanitizer, vomit, and death, and the whole feel of any office made him uncomfortable. In fact, his leg bounced so incessantly as he sat beside the table she had been laid up on that she scolded him, citing the fact that she could “ _ fucking hear his shoe squeaking” _ as he shook his leg. 

Usually, though, visits to the doctor ended with him getting bloodwork, which would ultimately end with him almost passing out. Nothing was ever pleasant in a doctor’s office. Well, mostly nothing. When they looked at a grainy image of a wiggling mass inside a kidney bean-shaped space on a small screen, he felt that the doctor’s office wasn’t always such a bad place. “ _ Look at that alien-looking, motherfucker,” _ she had whispered, and the doctor chuckled. He couldn’t look at anything else. Leaning forward on his elbows, he watched the screen intently.

_ “Everything looks great,” _ the doctor commented, shifting the ultrasound wand over the barely noticeable swell of Emma’s lower abdomen.  _ “Strong heartbeat. There’s a head. Body. And, oop, there’s an arm right there.” _ He tore his eyes away from the screen to glance down at Emma. Her stare was now trained on the screen, a small, wonder-filled smile touching her lips. The expression was not one she let out regularly. Even if she felt that very pure sense of joy and awe, it was something she kept to herself. The fact that it was slipping out was a marvel in and of itself. 

She smacked his arm, trying to get his attention as if he wasn’t already engrossed in the image.  _ “Look at this shit,” _ she whispered, her final slap turning into a grip on his forearm.  _ “That’s a fucking baby. Wow.” _ The really amazing part was trying to think about the state of their relationship just a few years earlier. He had been nervous about even asking her for her phone number. A date seemed even more out of the question than a simple phone number. If he were to travel back in time and tell his past self about what life was going to turn into, past Paul would have laughed directly in his face and then panicked about having a full fledged mental breakdown.  _ “Look at that. You did that, ya lil horndog.” _ The doctor laughed once again, but he buried his face in his hands trying to hide his equal amounts of embarrassment and sheer happiness he couldn’t wipe off his face.

Copies of the ultrasound images were printed and handed over to them. As they finished up with the rest of her appointment, he caught her peeking down at the picture and grinning from time to time. There was this light worry that kept crossing his mind. That she wasn’t really happy. That this wasn’t what she wanted. That she was only going through with it because she thought it was what he wanted. He really only wanted her and her happiness. The little moments like that one, though, eased the anxious thoughts.  _ “I’m thinking the thirty-first was a little generous, though,” _ the doctor stated as she looked over the notes in her hands.  _ “We’re probably looking closer to the thirteenth honestly.” _ Sooner. Not by much, but his heart still skipped a beat.

Afterwards, they decided on going out to the market. Not that he would have been opposed to grabbing something out. She just made it clear that she would prefer to figure something out at home, which was also fine with him. There was also a major bright side to visiting the fresh market midday on a weekday: it was basically empty. A few people milled about the place, contemplating the fresh fruit and veggies, but it was much quieter than either one of them was used to.

What he anticipated being just enough shopping for lunch and dinner ended up being a trip with him hauling around a heavy basket full of fresh food, some of which he hadn’t heard of. He had to forcibly take the basket from her, too, which she was very set on arguing about. There was no possible way she would have been carrying too much weight with just a basket full of groceries, but he still insisted that he carry the basket. “I’m not going to fucking break,” she grumbled. “If anything, I’m going to end up being the hardier of the two of us because I’m going to live through a human child leeching off of my life essence for the next number of months before forcibly expelling it from my body. Blood and guts and gore all in the name of bringing life into this fucked up world.”

His face twisted in disgust. “That’s not a very appealing way to describe it,” he commented as he grabbed a bag of cherries and placed it in the basket. All she gave as a response was a short snort. “We should see if they have any fresh bread left. We could do BLTs.”

Glancing over her shoulder with a smirk, she headed full speed ahead to the bread. “Now, we’re talking,” she commended as she rounded the corner of the table containing all the various artisan breads. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

“Yeah, it was all my butt. That’s how I lured you in.”

She clicked her tongue, nodding as she perused the bread options. “Yep, that was it,” she agreed upon picking up a loaf of sourdough. “That’s the only reason I’m keeping you around, so you better stay in some sort of shape.”

“I’ve already impregnated you. I don’t need you to be attracted to me anymore,” he replied. She handed him the loaf of bread, which he took and placed on the top of the basket. “My biological duty has been fulfilled.” From the refrigerators just beyond the baked goods, she grabbed a half gallon of milk that came from a local farm right across the bridge in Clivesdale. “All set?”

“Yeah, I think so,” she mumbled, going over some silent list in her head she clearly hadn’t shared with him. She arched a brow when she looked over at the basket in his hand. “Yikes, that’s way more shit than I thought we had.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You  _ just  _ realized that?” he asked. “Here I am thinking you had a plan.”

“I see shit, and I get hungry. Fucking sue me.” She pulled the items out of the basket one-by-one and placed them carefully on the counter in front of the cashier. “Hi, if you just give me a quick second, I’ll have all this shit out, and I’ll get you my card.” The words replayed themselves over in her mind as she continued to line up produce and other various organic treats. “Membership card. I’m a member. Not my credit card. I know you don’t need that yet. Shit. Sorry.”

He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from poking fun at her because she was acting like he would. A little jittery. A little scattered. Wholly apologetic for stupid things. The girl behind the counter looked mildly amused but uninterested on the whole. He stood by the card reader, fully prepared to just take care of the bill. Not because she couldn’t. He knew she could regardless of them keeping finances separate.They both paid into bills together and would take turns getting groceries. It wasn’t something that made a difference either way for the most part. “Paul, I’ve got it.”

“Oh, are you sure? I could--”

“Yeah, we’re good,” she assured him, squeezing between his body and the counter. “Go bag.” If it weren’t for the young girl looking increasingly uncomfortable with how Emma had just wedged herself snug up against him, he would have questioned her further, but as it was, he moved to the other side of the counter where he began to carefully organize their groceries into the canvas bags they brought in with them. The girl was efficient. Impressively so considering she had to manually enter in the majority of the order and they were done within five minutes. Before he could protest, Emma grabbed one of the bags and wished the young girl a good day. He raised a hand, hoping that he would convey a similar message.

Outside, the air was thick and warm. Summer was still very much upon them. He regretted wearing jeans, though he did get to admire the fact that she had some foresight and decided to wear shorts. And he was less than subtle about it. “Hey,” she said, pressing a button beneath the handle on the trunk of his car to pop it open. She placed her bag into the trunk and then turned to grab the two he was holding one at a time. After closing the trunk again, she turned to face him, leaning back against the end of the car. “Thanks for coming today.”

Smiling, he nodded. “Thanks for having me,” he replied as he shoved his hands into his pockets. For a moment, he felt like he had just walked her back to her car after their first date. A little awkward. A little uncomfortable. Not sure what to say. At some point after they had been together for a number of months, she told him that she had tried to kiss him when he walked her out of the bar, but he went in for a hug instead, leaving her in the dust. God, why was he feeling like a teenager talking to his crush again? They were  _ married _ . “I’m really, um, glad I could, uh, be there.”

“Good god,” she sighed with a huge shit-eating grin on her face. “Let’s get you home, Romeo.” She gave his chest a quick pat and then bounded off toward the passenger side door. From behind him, he could hear quiet snickering. Looking over his shoulder, he found a young man leaning against the wall by the market’s exit. He was tall. Thin. Fair. Wearing a leather jacket in eighty fucking five degree wearther. A head of short dark curls was slicked with gel. A cigarette hung from between his fingers. 

Paul scooted around the car and into the driver’s seat, glancing back again to find the young man waving at him. “What the hell is up with Greased Lightning over there?” Paul asked as he whipped around and buckled his seatbelt.

She squinted over at him, an amused smile on her face. “Okay first of all, I want to come back to the  _ Grease  _ reference,” she informed him while clicking her own seatbelt in. “But I think that’s the market girl’s boyfriend. He’s been there a lot when I’ve come closer to closing. It’s a lot easier to hang around the girl you like’s place of work when you’re in a fucking suit than when you look like you stepped out of a fifties hot rod gang.”

“Huh,” he muttered, putting the car into drive. His fingers turned the dial for the AC cooler. “Wait. I wasn’t that bad. I didn’t  _ loiter.” _

“You were there enough that Zoey did ask if I was just going to let you down gently.”

“But now you’re just going to wait to emotionally destroy me, right? Marriage. Kids. Pets. You’re going to leave and take them all probably.”

“No, you idiot. Insurance fraud. Come on. Get your head in the game.” She paused for a beat before fully turning to face him as he pulled the car onto the main road. “Hey, don’t change the subject. You fucking referenced a musical, and I’m not going to let that slide, buddy boy!”

“I don’t know,” he replied earnestly, his shoulders rising in a shrug. “He looked like the guy from  _ Grease.” _

“The guy from  _ Grease?” _

“...yes.”

“You mean John Travolta?”

“Yeah, him.”

“Jesus Christ, man,” she moaned, flopping her back against the seat.

“Give me a break. I don’t like musicals.”

“Our children are going to grow up with a healthy taste for making fun of their father, and I will make sure that happens.”

He glanced over at her briefly. “Children?”

She waved a hand at him dismissively. “Eh, we’ll see how this one goes.”

“Put a pin in the whole  _ multiple _ thing?”

She shot a finger gun at him. “You’re getting it, champ.”


	13. Number Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma used to sneak out of her childhood bedroom and Paul gets woken up in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this is a little contrived. It's meant to be more serendipitous than anything else, but it was really fun to write. :D

The music was loud and air thick with the smell of B.O., tequila, and weed. Emma sat at the edge of the living room, hanging out the window to ash her cigarette into the bushes lining the front of the house. She wasn’t even sure whose party it was. Maybe it was the Rogers girls’ house? She wasn’t entirely sure how she ended up there or even got in honestly. Linda and Lillian both hated her. Maybe it was her Halloween costume that made a clever disguise. Maybe everyone else was as drunk as she was.

The cool air was a relief on her burning hot cheeks. She hadn’t even realized how hot her face was. How much did she drink at that first party? Kevin’s house, right? Kevin Miller from theatre? She was pretty sure that’s the place where they started. Ducking her head back into the house, she peered around the room with one eye closed in an attempt to stop seeing double. Her surroundings didn’t look familiar, and Gary was nowhere to be found. It figured that he would ditch her. He was already detaching himself, hellbent on law school while she had no goals. She couldn’t blame him.

Waving him off with a very heavy, clearly uncoordinated hand, she ducked back over the back of the couch to lean out the window again. She was very drunk. Usually, she didn’t get that drunk especially when she was going to be out of the house, but something had come over her. Maybe it was the thought of everyone leaving in eight months. Maybe it was the fact that Jane was excelling in college, just another thing she would never achieve. Maybe it was the music choice being a mixture of No Doubt and Blink-182 all night. Had it been just those two bands? She couldn’t remember tuning in enough to hear anything else. Just Mark Hoppus crooning about missing someone. Not party music in the slightest. She took a long drag off her cigarette.

As if some musical god was watching over her, Dispatch blared over the surround sound speakers that were set up around the house. She shot a single finger gun up at the sky in an effort to thank the merciful music god who had taken pity on her while she pitied herself. There she was. Drunk on Halloween. Just a few days shy of turning eighteen. Alone. That’s how it usually went, though. She’d end up alone one way or another. She inhaled deeply on the cigarette again.

Her parents hated that she smoked. It was a bad habit she picked up at sixteen and had yet to kick. All her clothes and her bedroom smelled like a cross between a chain smoker’s house and a skunk. Weed was more difficult to sneak in because, although Jane gave up on giving her a hard time about the cigarettes, the illegality that came along with marajuana was a different story. With Jane away at school, however, she spent a lot of late nights sprawled out on the roof that hung over the back porch just outside her bedroom. Joint in hand, staring up at the sky. Wondering what else could possibly be waiting outside of Hatchetfield.

“Hey… are you okay?”

The voice behind her startled her out of her drunken trance. Jumping, she smacked her head hard against the window pane. If she hadn’t been as drunk as she was, the impact might have hurt more in the moment, but as it was, all she did was groan as she backed herself back into the living room. Staring down at her was an impossibly tall guy wearing a grey blazer and an eyepatch. Maybe he wasn’t that tall. She couldn’t tell. The room was spinning, she had just hit her head, and she was pretty sure there might have been two of him in her sight. Nonetheless, she didn’t recognize him. “‘M fine,” she grumbled, rubbing the back of her head. “The hell are you supposed to be? A pirate going f’r a job interview?”

The pirate smiled, eyebrows raised in both shock and concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She closed one eye to look up at him, which caused the eyebrows to immediately furrow. With her one eye squinted, she still didn’t recognize him. Perhaps it was because of the eye patch, but she didn’t think so. She was fairly certain she had never seen this pirate before in her life.

“Yeah,” she said, opening her other eye once again. “But what’re you s’posed t’be?”

He looked down at his costume before pointing a double finger gun in her direction. “I’m Number Two from Austin Powers,” he explained. “Found a pinky ring and a watch and everything.” He seemed genuinely proud of his low effort costume. While she wasn’t as impressed with him, at least he tried. “And you’re… Margot Tenenbaum?”

“Th’one and only adopted daughter herself,” she replied as she knocked a long build up of ash off of her cigarette while the other hand gestured down her long thrift shop fur coat. She went to take another drag only to find that she had hit the butt. Muttering something incoherent to herself, she flicked the butt out the window and looked back up at the guy. “Hey, Number Two, can…  _ you… _ tell me whose house we’re at right now? ‘Cause my friend bailed I think and I gotta figure out how sober I gotta get t’walk home.”

“Uh,” he began, making it painfully obvious he didn’t know where he was either. He fished a small piece of paper out of his pants pocket. “Um.” His eye squinted as he tried to read the small writing. “Lillian Rogers’s house? Does that sound right?”

One of her hands shot up in the air victoriously. “Allllllriiiiiiiiight!” she whooped. “Just a couple more cigs an’ I’ll be good t’go!” She leaned forward to try and high five him even though he didn’t realize that’s what she was going for, but she miscalculated and fell directly into his crotch. “Oh shiiit,” she laughed, backing away and patting his thigh. “Sorry, Number Two. Didn’t mean t’do that.”

His cheeks were tinged pink as he scratched the back of his neck. “It’s okay,” he insisted, chuckling. Very uncomfortable. Maybe she was just drunk, but Number Two was kind of cute. “Do you want me to drive you home? I haven’t had anything to drink, and my car isn’t parked in… I don’t think.”

“Nah,” she insisted. She patted his leg again as she stood up from the couch, the jungle juice from Kevin’s rushing back into her head. Her hand reached out for his arm to steady herself. “I live a couple blocks from here. I’ll just walk back.” When she took her hand off of his upper arm, she tested out her balance. She felt almost like one of those crazy arm balloon guys that they put up outside car dealerships. Like she could completely go off balance if the wind blew too fast.

He reached out and grabbed her arm this time to keep her from falling over. “Can I walk you home at least?” he offered. The hand lingered there. She stared right into his chest. It was warm in the house despite the cold October air pouring through the window she left open. Likely because she was drunk. Or maybe because of the fur coat. But she did like looking up at Number Two’s two faces. Even with the eye patch, she was pretty sure she liked his face.

“Okay.”

Actually getting out of the house was a struggle. There were drunk teenagers everywhere. Some half clothed. Some fully clothed and covered in their own vomit. A couple lay on the floor, tangled up in each other, lips fully locked. When she attempted to step over them, she nearly fell forward. His hands reached out and caught an elbow and a hand on the opposite arm. “Oh my gooooodddd,” she shouted as he helped her over the couple making out. When he made his own way over, she smacked him on the chest. Probably harder than she meant to. He winced at the contact. “I  _ loooovvvveee _ this song!”  _ Short Skirt Long Jacket _ by Cake played over the speakers while a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass sounded from somewhere deeper in the house. “Number Two, don’t ya like this song?”

“Yep,” he answered quickly almost as if he didn’t care about the song in question. They made their way past a few lingering people dressed in Scream and Betty Boop costumes through the front hall before bounding out into the night air. “Oh thank god,” he muttered under his breath.

“Ohhhh maaaan!” she yelled out into the quiet suburban neighborhood. Luckily it was Halloween on a Saturday night. Otherwise her volume might have caused an issue. To be fair, she was a little too inebriated to care. She powered forward out onto the sidewalk with her arms wide open. Behind her, she could hear his footsteps increasing their pace to catch up with her. Stopping for a moment, she turned to face him. “Y’know, Number Two, it’s my birthday on Tuesday.”

He tucked his hands into his pockets again. “Oh, happy birthday?” he replied, unsure of what she was going for. He was nervous. She wasn’t used to making people nervous. Frustrated, yes. Angry, for sure. But not nervous. Even with her vision blurred, she could see the pink lingering on his cheeks. On both faces that graced her vision. He lifted up the eyepatch to rest on the side of his forehead.

“Two eyes?” she exclaimed with a huge grin on her face. “That’s great, man!” They continued down the street. Over each crack in the cement, she took an exaggerated step over. And each time, she could have sworn she saw his arms reaching out to grab her in case she fell. Once they were far enough away from the house that the music had become a distant memory, she glanced over at him. This time her own hands found themselves in the pocket of the fur coat, which sort of smelled like mothballs and regret. “Thanks, though.”

He looked down. “For what?” he asked. His voice was earnest. Like he didn’t know what she was talking about. Honestly, she didn’t know exactly what she was thanking him for either. For the birthday wishes? For checking to see if she was okay? For walking her home? Any of the above would work, but she stayed quiet for a moment regardless.

“Th’ happy birthday,” she decided. Another big step over a crack sent her hurdling in his direction. Right into his side actually. “Oops.” He was warm and smelled like laundry detergent and boy’s deodorant. Rather than stumbling in the other direction, she stayed up against him, allowing him to prop her up. “No one’s gonna celebrate it with me. I’m turnin fuckin  _ eighteen _ and no one gives a  _ shit. _ ”

“I’m, um, sorry… Margot,” he said softly. His arm was braced against her back, holding her upright, as they turned down a side street. “That really sucks.”

“Yeah,” she concurred. “Yeah, it does, and y’know what? I’m gonna get out of this shithole town. I’m gonna run so fuckin far away no one’s gonna even remember my name. ‘Cause fuck ‘em. That’s why.”

“Fuck ‘em,” he chuckled in agreement. She liked how it felt leaning against him. If they had been back at the party, she might have made a move on him. Then again, she had no idea who he was. Even without the eyepatch, she was fairly certain she didn’t know who he was. 

With a heavy lean, she turned them onto her street. Shady Lane. She wondered if maybe he was looking to take advantage of her. Maybe he was one of those murderers who looked ridiculously young but was really forty. “Are you gonna kill me?” she asked, leaning harder into him.

“What?  _ No! _ ”

“Hmm… sounds like somethin a murderer would say.”

“What?!” She giggled hysterically, smacking his chest as an indication that she was fucking with him. He let out a breath that she didn’t realize he was holding. “Okay.” She liked making him nervous. “Okay.” Oh shit. Did she make him too nervous? Was he a robot? Oh god, was he short circuiting. “Okay.”

Her road was quiet. Houses were all dark. Neighbors were sleeping. The dogs of the neighborhood didn’t even bother with them. It took her until a few houses down from hers to realize she had wrapped her own arm around his back. There was something very  _ Moonstruck _ about the moment. Walking down cold, quiet streets under a full moon. Arms wrapped around each other. Although she was fairly certain Cher didn’t have crispy bleached-from-a-box hair, overly plucked eyebrows, and eyeliner smudged down to her cheekbones. “Hey, Number Two?”

“Yeah?”

“Do ya wanna make out when we get to my house?”

His entire body tensed up at her question. “I’m sorry. What?” he responded, higher pitched than before.

“You? Make out? With me? Yes or no?”

“Uh.” He hesitated, his hand at her outside shoulder squeezing in and out of a fist. “Okay.”

“Suh-weeeeet,” she cheered, breaking away from him. “This is me. C’mon.” She hurried through the side of the yard, beckoning him to follow, which he did of course. A wooden gate stood between them. She was a number of inches shorter than the fence, but he was able to see clear over it. He was ten feet taller than her. Well, at least a foot, but who was counting? Not her. She wouldn’t even know what numbers meant if she looked at them. Her stomach churned looking at him. “You hafta reach over and the lock is like one a’ the ones in a bathroom stall.” With ease, he reached over and unlocked the gate. “Amazing. You’re goddamn amazing, Number Two!”

They both moved through the yard towards the back. She hadn’t felt so excited in a long time. The feeling of her stomach doing flips was forgein to her. God, she didn’t want it to end. She could feel her gut in her chest. In a moment, she almost turned to him, but something hit her. It wasn’t excitement stirring in her belly. It was definitely vomit. She dropped to her knees by a bush next to the stairs and (literally) spilled her guts. The alcohol was too heavy in her brain to have pulled back the coat, but she hoped that the splash wasn’t far enough to hit the fur. There was a hand at her back. Luckily, her hair was so damaged by the impromptu bleach job and cut into a bob that she didn’t need someone to hold her hair back. Though, she had a hunch he would have.

With the back of her hand, she wiped the bile and stale rum off of her lips and looked up at him. “Here, gimme a boost,” she whispered. She stumbled to her feet and pointed up at the overhang. “I snuck out, so I’ve gotta go… this way.” Glancing back and forth between her and the sky, he sighed and bent down for her to climb clumsily onto his shoulders. He stumbled, and this was definitely the most uncomfortable thing they had done all day. It was like she was walking on stilts, trying to line herself up with the edge of the roof. “Hell yeah,” she quietly cheered as she made contact with the roof. Her legs flailed and clambered onto the roof next to her open bedroom window. 

Before he could get a word in, her head popped over the edge as she laid flat out on her stomach. “Oh Jesus Christ,” he gasped, a hand flying to his chest. 

“I’ll hafta let you in through the back door, but gimme a sec and--”

“I think you should probably go to bed, Margot.”

“But what about--”

“Uh, no. No thanks,” he said, once again scratching the back of his neck. Her face fell. “Oh no. No, no, no! It’s not you. I, uh, really,  _ really _ wanted to make out with you, but you’re really drunk. And I think you should go to bed.”

She rested her chin against the gutter. “Okay, sorry,” she mumbled, self hatred creeping in on her.

“But hey, listen, I really liked your costume, and you’re, like……  _ really  _ pretty and--”

“You think I’m pretty?”

He snorted. That made her smile. “Yeah, duh, and I’ll probably be really mad at myself for not coming in with you, but I think you should get some sleep because you’re probably going to throw up again… probably really soon. Also I really don’t want you to fall off the roof,” he yammered on. It was the closest she had been to actually looking at his face all night, and honestly, there wasn’t much she could make out through the combination of the pale glow of the moon and her drunk vision. But she could see the small smile on full lips and two saucer-like eyes staring up at her. Blue especially in the light of the moon. “Have a happy birthday, Margot.”

Her eyes sprang open to find herself in the dark again. This time in bed, but everything ached more. Not like they had the day after the Halloween party. Everything hurt and it felt like she was stuck in a tub of jello. She also threw up most of the Sunday before Gary and Kevin came over with pizza to soak up her hangover. No, this ache was more like that which comes with age. From too many nights wiggling in and out of her bedroom window as a kid. 

She blinked hard, trying to make sense of the dream she had just woken up from. The day after that Halloween party everything had been a blur. She remembered being walked home and leaving her favorite lighter at fucking Linda’s house. Everything else was in bits and pieces. Every now and then she would remember something new from heavy drinking nights, but… never anything like that. Her eyes slid just again, smiling at the idea of a complete stranger walking her home. A young kid choosing to not take advantage of a clearly wasted girl. She imagined looking down off of the roof outside her bedroom window.

Huh.

She knew those eyes.

Reaching out in the darkness, she nudged the sleeping form next to her, receiving a groan in response. “What?” Paul grumbled without rolling over to face her.

“Paul,” she whispered. “Hey, it’s important.”

He turned over to face her in the dark, rubbing at his eyes with the balls of his hands. “What’s going on?” he asked with a yawn. “Is everything okay?”

“Where were you on Halloween in 2003?”

“What?”

“Where were you--”

“No, no,” he interrupted as his voice came up in volume just a little bit. “Why is this important?”

“I think we almost made out once.”

“Jesus Christ, Em,” he groaned, flopping back down and rolling over. “We made out last fucking night. It’s the middle of the night, and we  _ both _ have to work tomorrow. I don’t really think this is that important.”

She shot up in her spot on the bed before reaching out and flipping on her bedside lamp. “No, it is,” she insisted. Beside her, he pulled the blankets up over his shoulders and onto his face, moaning in protest. “Do you remember where you were that night?”

“No, Emma, I don’t,” he muttered. “It was almost twenty fucking years ago.”

“Because I think I know where you were.”

“Oh yeah? Please, enlighten me,” he sighed as he pulled the blankets down from his face. He turned to face her with one eye shut, not used to the bright light. Of course he was humoring her. He always did.

“I think you walked a little Margot Tenenbaum home completely wasted that night.” He narrowed his open eye as if she had struck a chord with him. “And I think you looked kind of like that most of the night because of the… y’know…” She placed her one hand over her eye.

“Eye patch?”

She pointed a finger gun at him. “Yes, exactly. Eye patch. Right,” she continued. “And you may or may not have fucking declined coming in and making out with me because I was so drunk I threw up into a bush in my backyard.”

His expression softened for a moment. Like he had been transported to a different place and time. “Huh,” he breathed. He propped himself up onto his elbow and leaned in close to her. So close she could feel his breath on her face. Then he turned the light off. “I’d like to talk about this more, but I need to go to sleep, Em.” As he fell back to the bed, he pulled her down with him, holding her up against his chest. It was comfortable. He was comfortable. Apparently he always had been. She wrapped her arms around him. Part of her wished he had come upstairs. Wondered what it would have been like. How everything would have gone. “Please don’t go blonde again.”

She chuckled lightly, feeling sleep crawling back over her once again. “Okay,” she sighed into his chest as she drifted back off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I JUST FIND IT REALLY HARD TO BELIEVE IN HATCHETFIELD WHERE EVERYONE SEEMS TO BE IN EACH OTHER'S BUSINESS THAT PAUL AND EMMA HAD NEVER MET BEFORE, OKAY??


	14. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul gets some bad news. Emma's there to try and help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some heavy shit in this chapter, so just be aware!

Agnes passed away in late September.

The days were still warm, but the nights were beginning to turn cold. It was three in the morning when Paul got the call from Jack. Not from his mother. Not from his father. It was a secondhand call because they called his brother. They made no attempt to reach out to him. Nothing. He was lucky that there was someone in the family who still wanted something to do with him. Otherwise he might have had to find out when he showed up for their biweekly dinner.

It was painless. She wasn’t sick. For a woman who was nearly a century old, she was healthy as an ox actually. One night she went to bed, and the next morning she didn’t show up for breakfast. At some point in her sleep, her heart stopped. There was no sign that she had woken up beforehand. No sign of clawing onto whatever waning part of her life was left. No, it was quiet. No fuss. No relatives coming out of the woodwork to pretend to love her so much as she laid in a hospital bed. No rabbis praying over her mortal soul.  _ “Paul, I don’t want that at the end of my life. If your mother tries to send in an army of rabbis, you tell her no,” _ Agnes had insisted as they chatted over chili and cornbread.  _ “God only knows what praying ever did for us. You know what I say to that? Feh!” _

He had rolled out of bed to take Jack’s call and just decided there was no use in going back to sleep. Instead he wandered downstairs without turning any lights on. He slipped out the back door and out onto the patio. The air outside was cold. Much colder than he had anticipated. A shiver made its way down his spine and all along his exposed arms. He walked down past the edge of the patio and toward the edge of the pond. There was dew on the grass, not quite cold enough to have turned to frost. The wet soaked the hem of his pajama bottoms and made the joints in his feet ache from the cold wet contact. Nonetheless, he continued.

The moon was nothing but a sliver in the night sky. No silver glow swept over the ground and onto his skin. Nothing but a few faint glints of light in the rippling waters of the pond. It felt appropriate. Dark. Almost frigid. The way he always recalled her from when he was growing up. Cool and severe. A tall woman with a long face and huge eyes that always seemed to be watching. All of the boys would spend a week with their grandparents during the summer, which was spent largely doing chores and maintenance around the house. Everything had to be done just right otherwise it would have to be done again, usually from the very beginning. Like when he had been assigned dish duty one night as a twelve year old. He painstakingly went over each and every dish, scrubbing until he could scrub no more. It felt like hours while his brothers were able to run outside and hop on their bikes to enjoy what was left of the evening. When she came in to inspect them, she was quick to point out the smudges on the pots and silverware. The small spots where food had crusted into corners that he hadn’t seen.  _ “Again,” _ was all she said before leaving the kitchen.

When he had seen her at Dan’s wedding for the first time in years, it was the gentlest he had witnessed her being maybe ever. She smiled at him. Sought him out throughout the night to chat with him. Asked about great grandchildren or marriage when Emma would walk away. He actually enjoyed spending the time with his grandmother even if she did keep making his cheeks burn red when she brought up the future. The full feeling in his heart by the end of the night made him squirm. He had fun spending a good portion of his night with one Agnes Besser, which seemed like it should have been a joke.

He crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands into his armpits. It was getting colder. Or maybe he was just poorly dressed for the stupid stroll outside in the middle of the night. It was more likely the latter of the two. His grandparents’ home was usually cold when they would visit in the winter and hot when they would visit in the summer. They really had no concept on how to properly keep a temperature in the house. There were many nights he spent tangled up in sweat soaked sheets in nothing but his boxers. Wide awake. Staring at the ceiling fan, which was struggling to push the muggy air around the tiny bedroom.

It wasn’t until he was a teenager that he began waking up in the middle of the night. He had always been an anxious kid. Nervous and skittish. Afraid of most things. And even when the sleep started to struggle, he didn’t have nightmares. He would just suddenly remember he  _ might _ have left the desk lamp on in his bedroom before they all left and was panicking about it causing a fire. Silly and unreasonable.

When the fan wasn’t able to put him back to sleep, he snuck downstairs. His intent was just to get a glass of water. He didn’t anticipate anyone else being up because why would they be? The old clock in the upstairs hall said it was half past three. Smack dab in the middle of the night. He tiptoed down the stairs, still not entirely sure how to manage his suddenly long fifteen year old limbs. He had shot up five inches in the past year and wasn’t quite solid with sneaking around with his gangly long legs.

He thought he was in the clear to round his way into the kitchen when he heard someone shift on the couch in the other room.  _ “Paul?” _ Really, the giveaway should have been the one light that was aglow beside the couch, but in his defense, it was the middle of the night. It was his grandmother.  _ “Are you having trouble sleeping?”  _ He stiffened, scratching the back of his neck. Suddenly very aware that he was standing in front of his grandmother in nothing but boxers. Despite the awkward lurches his stomach was making, he nodded. 

_ “Come. Sit.” _ As per usual, he did as he was told. He was good at following directions. It helped keep him out of more trouble than he already got in at home.  _ “Here.” _ She handed him a tattered copy of  _ The Catcher In the Rye _ .  _ “Have you read this yet in school?” _ He shook his head once again.  _ “Good. The reading will help your eyes feel tired again.” _ A hand came up and pressed against his sweaty forehead. Cool on his skin. When the sleeve of her nightgown fell, he could see what appeared to be black scribbles on the inside of her arm. Numbers maybe.  _ “You’re feeling well?” _ He nodded.  _ “Alright. I think this should help you. It’s always helped me on nights like this.” _ Her hand ran through his slick hair before she stood up, gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, and retreated back upstairs.

It was the last summer he would spend a part of with his grandparents. The following year, he got a job working at the snack bar at the community pool. Jack worked at the bowling alley. They were growing up and becoming too busy to dedicate parts of their break from school to their grandparents. Late in the summer, their grandfather would die. The funeral was quiet. Just the immediate family. Agnes did not cry. Her hands remained tightly clenched in her lap for the entire service until she threw the first handful of dirt onto the hole her late husband’s casket was lowered into. She hugged him tightly when he came to give his condolences. A more genuine hug than he was used to receiving from family. It didn’t linger physically, but after Dan’s wedding, he thought about that moment a lot.

Sometimes when he read late at night in his bedroom that summer, he wondered if she was doing the same.

He could feel himself shivering hard despite his best efforts to try and warm himself. Shaking his head, he turned around to walk back into the house. What a stupid thing for him to do. It was the middle of the night. Why would he go and stand outside? It was the end of September for crying out loud. What was he thinking? As he approached the sliding glass door, he glanced back over his shoulder and the sliver of moon now obscured by clouds. He sighed and slipped back into the house. If he didn’t know any better, though, he might have sworn he could smell the faint scent of her perfume just as the door locked behind him.

Climbing up the stairs quietly was far easier now that he was an adult. He was used to his size and his long, gangly limbs. The first summer after he started at college he hit his current height and finally fit in size-wise with his brothers. No more short jokes at least. He slid across the wood floors with ease, dodging all the creaky boards. Their bedroom door groaned slightly as he pressed it closed, but Emma was a pretty deep sleeper as of late.

When he crawled back into bed, he savored the feeling of the sheets wrapped around his cold body. She had convinced him that flannel sheets were the way to go when it got colder. It was a sound investment. His eyes began to close again before she turned over to face him. “What were you doing outside?” she asked. Her voice was thick with exhaustion.

“Nothing,” he replied out of instinct. But that was a less than acceptable answer, which he was aware of. Without skipping a beat, he corrected himself, “I… uh… my grandmother died tonight, and I just… had to think.”

Her hand jutted out and found a spot to rest in the center of his chest. “I’m sorry, Paul,” was all she uttered in response. She wasn’t so sure of how to handle emotions, but she knew there was something brewing inside his head. “Do you want to talk about it now?”

He took a deep breath in, pondering his options. The truth was that he probably should talk about what was going through his head. Or just talk about the memories. That could help. His heart felt a little achy. A little broken. Gigi was indestructible. She was an iron lady. She wasn’t supposed to ever die. “I don’t think so,” he replied, shaking his head against his pillow. There was a lump rising up in his throat.

“Okay,” she whispered, index finger tracing imaginary circles on his chest. “Maybe tomorrow then… ‘cause I think you should.” He nodded this time, trying desperately to swallow the knot in his throat back down. “Okay.” The circles stopped for a moment. He couldn’t stop the tear that slipped out of his eye. Dammit. “Do you need a hug?” He shook his head. “Well, you’re gonna get a hug, so get over here.”

Tugging his shoulder, he begrudgingly turned over to face her. More tears slipped out after he turned. He attempted to blink them away. Her arms wrapped around him. One arm around his shoulders. The other pressed between the mattress and wrapped around his head. Her fingers gently and rhythmically ran through his hair. He knew she could feel the tears through her tank top, but she didn’t mention it. She just held him there. Quiet. Close. Warm. His own arms found their way around her waist as he pressed his face into her chest. The realization that the tears weren’t going to be stopping any moment soon had hit him. But Emma didn’t judge that, and he was well aware of that. She could pretend like it never happened if he wanted, so he allowed the silent tears to soak through the front of her shirt. 

At some point, he fell asleep like that. Wrapped around her. Face buried in her chest. Her fingers raking through his hair. 

Silent. 

Warm. 

Safe. 

Sad.

But it would be okay.


	15. Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma makes Paul tell her what's in the box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is very late and I thought this lil guy was going to be short, but 3k words later at 1 AM here we are.

Paul sat at the dining room table with a large box that had left to be open in front of him. It had been there for the past week since they had cleaned out his grandmother’s apartment. He couldn’t bring himself to open it no matter how long he sat in front of it at night. The box itself wasn’t cardboard. Not a box something would ship in or one would pack items in while moving. It was decorative. Green and white stripes crossing over one another. Varying shades from olive and viridian and chartreuse. It looked old. The white space between the green was turning from a bright white to something more of a cream color. Its lid wasn’t sealed. Just sitting there with an envelope on top. Written in neat script:  _ ‘Paul’. _

“Still haven’t opened it, huh?”

Emma leaned up against the doorway with a bowl of cereal in hand. It was not morning. It had to be nearly ten o’clock at night. He looked over at her, a small tired smile finding its way onto his lips. Her hair was piled on top of her hair in a wet bun. She had made her way into his dresser again to pull out one of his sweatshirts from college again. He wasn’t sure why he even kept them in there anymore. A pair of bright blue socks with little packages of french fries on them were pulled up over a pair of black leggings. One of the pairs she had been so excited to have gotten in the mail after she finally did away with an old set that was riddled with holes.  _ “Spandex, Paul. I’m going to live in goddamn spandex for the next year.” _

“You’re going to have to open it eventually,” she noted through her mouthful of cereal. His gaze returned to the box. He tapped a finger on the lid beside the envelope. “I know you don’t want to, but I think Agnes would be pretty--”

“Don’t do that, Emma.”

Raising her eyebrows, she shrugged. “Okay,” she conceded as she scooped another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. “But I think you’d feel better if you did.” They sat in silence after that. He had nothing more to add, and while she definitely did, she knew that there was nothing she would say would be the right thing. Sensitivity wasn’t something she excelled at ever since she was a child. As a kid, however, it came in handy when she kicked Linda Monroe’s ass for making fun of Jane in the locker room. Something about snapping her arm like a twig and making it look like a fucking accident. Something told her that she couldn’t fight the fact that his grandmother was dead, though, so decided it was best to keep quiet. “Have you even read the note?”

He shook his head. “No,” he admitted, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table and hang his head between them. Behind his head, he laced his fingers together after his palms raked up the sides of his hair. “I don’t even know that it  _ is _ a note. I can’t even fucking imagine what’s in the box.”

Against her better judgment, she blurted out a dramatic, “‘ _ What’s in the box?’” _ She held her bowl in one hand while waving the other around frantically in the shape of a finger gun.

Against his feeling of apathy, he chuckled. “That… that joke is in really poor taste for  _ so _ many reasons,” he replied, a smile lingering on his face. 

Another scoop of cereal found its way into her mouth. “You better open it then,” she insisted, pointing at him with her spoon. “Better make sure it’s not my pretty little head in that box. Maybe Kevin Spacey came into the house and tried to play husband. And then--”

“Emma.” He held up a hand. “Too much.”

Groaning, she skulked back into the kitchen. He could hear the clattering of her bowl and spoon in the sink followed by the water rushing down into the sink. There was no sound of the dishwasher opening and being loaded. Some things just didn’t change. She slid back into the doorway with one hand in the pocket on the front of the sweatshirt. “Okay, I have a proposition for you.” She produced a small envelope from the pouch. He arched a brow, mildly intrigued but unwilling to admit it. “I have some information that is pretty… I don’t fucking know. Good? Whatever. I don’t even know what’s in here, but you can.” With the envelope, she pointed at him. “You read this, and I’ll read Agnes’s note.”

“Emma, I don’t know. I--”

“C’mon, Paul,” she said, tone softening. “You know she’d be thinking you’re a fuckin weenie right now.” His eyes shifted to her as if to relay a warning. “And I’m not just saying that to make you feel bad. I’m saying it because she’d be pretty bummed you didn’t open a gift from her.”

He considered her offer, once again tapping a finger on the box. The raps against the lid were solid. Whatever was in the box was filled to the very top. It was heavy to haul into the house. There was literally nothing he could have imagined being left. When she moved out of the old house, a lot of their things were sold off in garage sales. He couldn’t even remember what they moved into the apartment. He could only recall doing everything as quickly as he could in order to get away from his family as fast as he could.

One finger trailed along the edge of the envelope. “Okay.”

She perked up. “Wait, really?” He rose from the table, pulling the envelope off of the box and handing it over to her. In return, he received the one from her, a much smaller parcel. Another thing he couldn’t imagine what secrets it held. “Did you want to go first?”

His thumbs hovered over the seam of the envelope. Ready to open his up and chicken out on her reading whatever was. He looked up from his hands to her. “No,” he sighed. “I think you should.”

“Okay.” She slid a single finger underneath the lip of the envelope. Its contents appeared to be a single sheet of his grandmother’s stationary. Lined with a floral print with an ornate “AB” in the bottom right hand corner. She held another small square with her thumb at the side of the note. Whatever it was made her smile and let out a tiny exhale of a laugh. “Did you want me to just read it and hand it over?”

“Read it,” was all he said. When she looked over at him, he was staring at the floor. Eyes distant. Sad. Lonely. He had retreated into himself trying to lick at his own wounds, and she had just been standing nearby ready to rub salt in them. The way he had acted since the night he wandered outside reminded her of the big idiot who began overtipping her. Timid with just a pinch of depression. Nervous. 

She nodded and cleared her throat, hoping she wasn’t misinterpreting him. “‘ _ To my Paul,’” _ she began before pausing for a beat to make sure she wasn’t doing the wrong thing. His eyes remained glued to the floor.  _ “‘I know it is not fair to choose favorites with children of any sort, be it your children or grandchildren, but your brothers very much tied my hands. You were always my favorite. Not solely because you did not have the same innate need to cause chaos or complete lack of self awareness, though I will say those traits did help your case.’ _

_ “‘I remember you as a little boy sitting in my backyard. While your brothers rode off somewhere on their bikes, you stayed behind to play by yourself. I will admit I was concerned at first, but you were fine for hours. Lining up little dinosaur and animal figurines and flying them around in imaginary spaceships. You introduced me to each member of the crew. Dinosaurs. Cats. Pigs. A G.I. Joe figure. It was a delight.  _ _ You  _ _ were a delight. Your brothers needed constant entertainment. They always hated the fact that we did not have a television, so I never got one to make sure they would not be inclined to stay in my house all day.’ _

_ “‘When you were a teenager, I began to see what I assumed was your brothers taking a toll on you. There were less times I would see you spending time around the yard. There was no more creativity or imagination. You would disappear. I am so sorry I did nothing for you. I know it will never be enough, but I know it was him. My daughter and you boys all deserved better, but you always were hit the hardest by everything he did.’” _

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Paul wince. “Do you want me to stop?” she offered, but he shook his head. “Okay.”

_ “‘I was thrilled when you took to reading to help you fall back asleep. I have not had a night where I slept through until morning since 1972. That might not be true, but I am sure you understand what I meant. Not to say I was not concerned when you began waking up in the night. I could hear you toss and turn all night and then sneak downstairs to get water. You were always so sensitive. Everything that happened in your home followed you like a dark cloud. Sleeping was not the only thing that was affected. You began to disappear in your fear and anxiety. So when you chose to sit with me and read night after night, I was relieved. It was a quiet time for you to just exist. I hope you remember it as fondly as I do.’ _

_ “‘When you not only came to Daniel’s wedding but were a groomsman, I can only say that I was shocked. It felt like the last time I saw you was when you were a boy afraid of the shadow that was stuck to him. But it was different there. You held your head up high even when your brothers and that man took their shots at you. There was a brightness back in your eyes that had not been there in a long time. You seemed happy for the first time in a long while. It brought joy into my heart to see that.’ _

_ “I do appreciate that you made and continue to make the effort to see me. It is nice to get out of this pit to see the sun every once and awhile. I enjoy hearing about all the books you have read and the ones you haven’t but continue to purchase (an interesting financial choice, I suppose). Your life seems very full. You have found your home and your place in this world. I did worry for a long time you might not, but you eventually found your way. I cannot express the pride I have for you, my Paul. _

_ “‘Keep that chin up. Don’t worry about what those tiny men have to say about you. They can all go to hell. And if you find it difficult to not let them get to you, just throw that little Emma into the ring. She is a fire. You did well with her, dear. I am fairly certain, if my observations have not fooled me, she would very well fight the world for you. It is okay to let someone in and help. I think she would be happy to do so. _

_ “‘And if you take away nothing else from anything I have given you, I would like you to remember this, “ _ _ All morons hate it when you call them a moron.” All my love, Gigi’” _ Still holding the small square of paper to the letter with her thumb, she dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Ah, fuck. Hormones.” He laughed, watery and full of emotion. He wiped beneath his eyes with the backs of his fingers. “Damn, you too, Paul? You pregnant, too? Fucking twinsies!” Shaking his head, he allowed the chuckle to fade out. “Here.”

Her hand thrusted out to him with the small square. It was an old photo. The date in the corner read  _ 07.30.1991 _ . A little boy with an unfortunate bowl haircut appeared to be wiggling on an older woman’s lap. Both of them were laughing. She held him with one hand on his back and the other across his legs. He looked directly at the camera. She looked at nothing but him. The back read:  _ “Agnes & Paul Summer ‘91” _ . 

He stared down at the photo, wishing he could recall that summer. Wondering what else he had missed from his childhood trying to repress all the shitty parts. He looked back at Emma who was placing the letter back in the envelope. “Hey,” he said quietly. Their eyes caught one another. “Thank you.”

She jutted her chin out. “What’s in the box?” she repeated a little less like Brad Pitt. “I know it wasn’t part of the deal, but I’m nosy and would apparently go to war for you. So open it.”

They both moved to the table, and when he glanced back at her, he could have sworn he caught her rubbing a hand over her stomach. “I think you’d become a warmonger for a lot of things. Like I’m pretty sure you’d start the next world war for Polly Pocket.”

“Listen, they were the superior toy of the nineties, and you can fucking fight me on that. Just know you’re going to get your ass kicked, and I  _ will _ win.” He found a grin spreading across his lips, and she just rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “I would fight for you.” He chuckled as he turned back to the box. “Seriously, I would. If you need me, you just tag me in, okay? We’re in this together now, brother.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Okay, Hulk Hogan, just… never call me brother again, and we’ve got a deal.” She shot a double finger gun at him after placing the letter onto the table. “Great.” His hands were shaking above the box. It felt like he was unwrapping the last gift he would ever get from his grandmother. That everything was going to be over after that. The magic would be lost. He lifted the lid.

Books.

Filled to the brim with books.

On top, a first edition of  _ Catcher In the Rye _ . The same tattered copy he first read many years ago. He picked it up, careful of the cover that was threatening to fall off the binding. It was so much smaller in his hands than he remembered. When he was a boy, he had to hold both sides of the book as he read. He was fairly certain that he could comfortably hold the small book with one hand as an adult. There were dozens of books in the sizable box. Some first editions. Some very old editions. Some in different languages. 

As his grandmother had often quoted when his brothers complained when she would make them read:  _ “A book is a gift you can open again and again.” _

He wiped the corner of his eye with his free hand and chuckled to himself. “I’m a little overwhelmed,” he told her. She reached behind him and gently ran her nails up and down his spine. A small kiss pressed against his shoulder. “Sorry, I just don’t know what to say right now.”

“You don’t always have to have something to say, Paul,” she replied, cheek pressed up against his arm. “It’s okay to just be overwhelmed.” He hummed in response as his hand passed over all the various covers that were peeking up at him. “We don’t have to do the other one right now if you don’t want to. I feel like that fucking window closed, and your goddamn grandmother showed me up from beyond the grave. What a woman.”

Truthfully, he had forgotten about the small envelope that he had slipped into his back pocket, which he quickly retrieved. “No, we can,” he assured her, already pulling the seam open. There was a single long sheet of paper that appeared to mostly be blank. “I’m sorry. I… I forgot about it, but let’s, um… let’s…” His eyes narrowed. There was one word neatly printed in the middle. “Is this some kind of… oh…  _ oh!” _ He turned to her, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. “Really?”

“I don’t fucking know? Maybe. I said earlier that I didn’t know either, you dweeb,” she huffed, trying to sound aggravated, but she was feeling a little like Agnes at Dan’s wedding. Happy to see a little more life in his eyes again. “You’ve got to read it, genius.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. The paper lifted up once again as if he couldn’t remember a single word. His other hand raked through his hair as his eyes flicked between her and the paper. “Yeah, um…” he trailed off. Words escaped him. 

Shaking his head, he handed the paper off to her instead. Her eyes fell immediately on the word, and she grinned. Throwing the paper onto the table, she reached up and pulled his face down to hers. Their lips met quietly. Happily. Nothing ulterior in the contact. Just a soft sense of joy.

_ Boy. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take no responsibility with spoiling Se7en. It's been out for 25 years, man, and if you haven't seen it, watch it but only if murder and stuff is your thing.
> 
> Also I want to reiterate how much I appreciate all of your comments. They make me so happy to read and respond to. I'm just happy you guys like my little silly story. You all are wonderful (and I will respond in the morning because I might pass out at my computer if I stay up longer.


	16. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul gets accosted by his co-workers because they haven't seen Emma in a few months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this one was a little disjointed. I tried to get the dynamic down between all of the gang, but it was a little tough.
> 
> Also I think I'm going to expand upon that Halloween party at some point. I'd like to do a Paul perspective I think.

“How’s Emma doing?”

It was a seemingly innocuous question. Especially coming from Melissa, who hadn’t been over to the house in a number of months because of the quarantine and then her whirlwind new romance. So when she found herself leaning up against Paul’s desk, facing him to chat briefly after grabbing a fresh mug of coffee, nothing seemed out of the norm. He took a moment to look up from the several windows he had open on his screen. “She’s been doing pretty well,” he told her as he took a sip from his own lukewarm cup. “Some days are better than others, but you know--”

“What’re you guys talking about?” Ted wheeled his way around to the other side of Paul’s desk and perched his elbows on top of a stack of manila folders that were filled with documents. Melissa and Paul both just stared at him like he had the audacity to have three heads. Both annoyed and perplexed. “Y’know, it hurts that our friendship isn’t strong enough for you to let me into your life, Paul.”

“Well, Ted,” Paul began, closing his eyes for a moment as if to think of something either clever or sensitive to say. He wasn’t sure which he wanted to go for. The ‘we aren’t friends’ approach was a classic, but he wasn’t even sure he could use that one any longer. Because all things considered, Ted was his friend even if he didn’t want to admit it. He was aggravating and brash and thoroughly inappropriate the majority of the time, but they were still friends. “There’s nothing to tell you about.” A bold faced lie.

To be fair, though, Melissa only knew because she had been snooping.

Ted narrowed his eyes. “I think you’re a liar,” he stated, pointing directly at Paul’s surprised face. “Oh yeah, buddy, you’re lying to me. You and half pint haven’t been around in a while. You keep declining all of the invites to come over and play drunk beer pong and… oh my god, did she leave you already? Holy shit, Paul.” 

Paul scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. “No, Ted, Emma didn’t leave me,” he assured. “We just haven’t been going out lately. That’s it. We’re trying to save money.”

“Did you murder her, Paul?” Ted asked, his tone becoming serious. He leaned in to loudly whisper to both Paul and Melissa. “I’m wounded that you won’t let me in, but if you need help disposing a body, I know this guy--”

“Jesus Christ, Ted, no!” Melissa threw her head back, laughing, and Paul glared up at her. He was literally just there to do his job and then go home. He wasn’t sure how he ended up so chummy with all his co-workers. “I didn’t…” He lowered his voice. “I didn’t kill my wife.”

Ted rested his chin in his hands, looking like a little girl at a slumber party. His face was filled with delight and mischief. “Y’know what that sounds like to me?” he asked, tapping a finger against his cheek.

“Don’t.”

“That’s right. It sounds like something someone who murdered his wife would say.” Paul buried his face in his own hands and let out a loud groan. “Listen, buddy, this is a judgment free zone. I, for one, won’t narc on you because that’s what good friends do. They become accomplices in each other’s crimes.”

“I think he’s right, Paul,” Melissa chimed in. “I read an article about that somewhere. It’s a new rule in the friendship sphere.”

“You, too? Come on, Mel.”

Bill rolled his way over to the other side of Melissa. “I don’t think you killed Emma, Paul,” he informed. “You two have been a little distant lately, though. Is everything okay? I worry about you two. Alice has been asking about you guys, and I don’t even know what to tell her. You--”

“Do you guys remember when you didn’t give a shit what I did?” Paul interjected, waving his hands out in front of him.

Melissa pursed her lips. “Yes, but I’ve been invested for a long time because I didn’t know you were the guy Emma was seeing,” she explained, sipping her coffee.

“No, I literally want to know everyone’s business,” Ted admitted. “You were just fucking boring before.”

“You know I’ve always cared about what’s going on in your life, Paul,” Bill told him, tone verging on genuinely hurt. Of all three of them, his answer was the only one Paul was sure of. The guy let him live on his couch for a year and a half for god’s sake. Plus, he was one of those people that would give the shirt off his back even for Ted. One of those people who, when everything boiled down, was simply a good and caring person. Paul made a note to himself to have Bill over for dinner sooner rather than later. He had to admit he really missed his monthly dinners with both Alice and Bill. “Is something going on?”

Paul sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Do you see what you did?” He pointed up at Melissa, who stuck her tongue out in response. It felt like he was in high school, being interrogated by… he glanced over at his mustached co-worker. Actually, it was Ted who had inquired about where he disappeared to the night of the Halloween party because a girlfriend of a guy who Ted was kind of friends with saw him leave with a girl. At least he was consistent, but god damn, Emma was right about how people didn’t leave Hatchetfield.

The door to the breakroom swung open to reveal Charlotte. “Fresh pot of coffee is ready,” she chirped before stopping dead in her tracks. She scanned over the group huddled around Paul’s desk, the man himself in the center of it all with eyes pleading desperately to save him. “What’s happening here? Everything alright?”

“No, Char,” Ted huffed as he turned to face her. “Paul, here, is being shady as fuck, and no one has seen his miniature woman around anywhere. And Melissa knows something is up, and that’s just not fucking fair. Because something is definitely up.”

“Oh,” Charlotte chuckled, waving a hand dismissively at him. “Well, they’re trying to save money and not going out too often because Emma’s pregnant.” A blush spread like wildfire across Paul’s cheeks as he stared wide-eyed at the office administrator. “I thought… everyone knew that.” She looked at Paul. “Emma made it sound like everyone knew when I ran into her after one of her doctor’s appointments. My chiropractor practices next door.”

Tossing his gaze back and forth between Paul and Charlotte, Ted started with Paul. “We’ll get back to you in a fucking second,” he promised before turning his attention to Charlotte. “I’m sorry, but no, no one fucking knew that. It--”

“I knew,” Melissa piped up, raising her hand. “I’ve known basically the whole time.”

“Paul, is that true?” Bill asked excitedly, rolling his chair closer. “I didn’t think that was something you two had in the plan, but I’m so--”

“Are we just going to ignore the fact that he was keeping this a secret from us?” Ted shouted, attempting to get everyone back to the conversation at hand. “That’s fucking dumb, and you should have said something.”

“My parents don’t even know.”

“Well, your parents are dicks, and I’m offended to be in the same category as them.”

Feeling like everyone was closing in around him, Paul closed his eyes. He really wished he could have just worked from home. That was something he would have to bring up with Mr. Davidson at some point. Maybe everyone could work from home one day a week. It was much more relaxing not having to commute in or go through an entire inquisition from his co-workers. There had to be something to get them off of his back. He reached for the top drawer on the right hand side of his desk. A photo sat upside down atop a couple of steno pads and packs of staples, sticky notes, and paper clips. It was time for a hail Mary move.

“Do you guys, um, want to see?” Between the four of them, he couldn’t make out a coherent answer, but the resounding consensus was that they did, in fact, want to see. Bill and Charlotte made their way to stand behind him. Melissa and Ted simply leaned in, completely unaware of personal space or boundaries.

“Looks like a fucking alien,” Ted commented, squishing his face in disgust.

“Yeah, are you an alien, Paul? Or is that Emma’s genetics?” Melissa wondered as she squinted at the grainy black and white image. “I bet it’s you.”

Bill’s hand landed on his shoulder. A real solid squeeze on the shoulder. Almost prideful. Almost comforting. He and Bill were nearly the same age, yet he felt like a dad was congratulating him on a good game. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched Bill run a finger underneath his eye. “Jesus, Bill, get it together,” Ted grumbled. “Do we know if the alien is going to have a wang or a cooch.”

“Ted!” Charlotte gasped, slapping his shoulder.

“It’s a fair question!” Ted defended, rubbing his shoulder. “And ouch, c’mon, Charlotte!”

Despite his aggravation with the entire situation he had been thrust into, Paul found himself smiling down at the little alien. “Yeah, um, so it’s a boy,” he explained quietly. For a moment, he was lost in a safe spot in his mind. A quiet place where he wasn’t under pressure to answer everyone’s stupid nosy questions. It would just be his family. A thought that hadn’t really occurred to him. He had somehow started his own family. Something he had always wanted deep down. Something he had tried to latch onto with Bill and Alice. Somethin he had really already had for the past few years even if that only included Emma and a couple cats. Although, he really couldn’t take the true credit for starting it. That honor should have really been bestowed upon Ted, but he couldn’t give him that satisfaction.

The man himself gave Paul a hard slap on the back, literally lurching forward out of his thoughts. “Alright, big dick Paul.” Had he been talking to Emma? “Falling further into the marriage hole, huh?” The hand on his back lingered for a moment before something came out of Ted’s mouth that he never thought he would hear. “Congrats, bud.” An earnest congratulatory remark. 

“Thanks, Ted.”

Oh boy was Ted going to lose his mind when he found out that Emma was the girl from the Halloween party and there wasn’t even a kiss that night.


	17. Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul stays at work late on Halloween and Emma is upset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I took my weekend off finally. I spent it fully inebriated and laughing over Skype with my beautiful friends. But now, the show must go on!
> 
> I hope everyone is still well and safe!

Paul had been working late every night that week because work was swamped, and he was really hoping that it was buttering Mr. Davidson up enough to agree to let everyone work from home one day a week of their choosing. He had roped both Charlotte and Bill into it. It was an attempt to make it seem less selfishly motivated than it actually was. Like he was taking one for the team when he was really taking one for himself. 

Emma was aware of that, though, just like he was painfully aware that he was getting home well after seven PM on Halloween. Not that they had any big plans, but it was her favorite holiday. She always liked to do something even if it wasn’t big. Normally, those small plans would include copious amounts of drinking, so that was off the table. Realistically, she could have just been in the living room watching  _ Halloween _ with a big bowl of popcorn perched on her stomach. Her “built it TV tray” as she had called it. She would give him a little shit, but they would settle in for the night and then head to bed later in the night.

He held his breath coming through the front door and was greeted by only silence. For whatever reason, his heart was pounding in his chest. This was exactly how a horror movie started. Halloween. Quiet dark house. Maybe he was about to get murdered but his spidey senses had kicked in, so he was somehow aware that it was going to happen. “Hey,” he called into the house tentatively, kicking off a second shoe to lay beside her small pair of booties.

There was a beat of silence. Enough to make him nervous about the seemingly eerie house. They had joked about  _ the Fugitive _ a lot, but was someone actually going to frame him for her murder? It was entirely unlikely but a real thought that crossed his mind nonetheless. “Upstairs,” her voice responded from somewhere upstairs. Likely their bedroom. Relief was an understatement for the feeling he had after his unrealistic anxieties were flushed away.

Bounding up the stairs and down the hall upstairs, he did find her in their bedroom. She stood in front of the antique mirror with one of his t-shirts pulled up just enough to reveal the swell of her belly. She was so small that the further along she got, the more the protrusion of her stomach seemed more like various sizes of balls or melons stuffed under her shirt. The doctor had stated she was going to be approaching the five month mark. A little over half way there. Yet she stood in front of the mirror with one of the deeper frowns he had seen on her in a long time. “Hey,” she muttered without looking at him.

“Hey.” He peeled off his jacket, which he dropped onto the bed unceremoniously and loosened his tie. She remained in the same spot. In the mirror he could see her gazing down, eyes distant. One hand mindlessly traced along the side of her belly. “Everything okay?”

The hand halted at the top of her stomach that had really begun to take form in the past few weeks. A noticeable bulge from her small frame. Her hand lay flat across the top before moving down to rest at the base. She tapped her index finger against her skin. “I don’t know,” she finally said. He lifted the tie up and over his head without taking his eyes off of her. This wasn’t anger with him for missing out on Halloween. This was a different animal entirely. “I feel like I’ve made a mistake.”

His heart dropped. “What kind of mistake?” he inquired, testing the waters as he began to unbutton his shirt.

“All of this,” she answered. The hand on her stomach moved about in a gesture to mean the entirety of what was going on around her. She finally turned around to face him, the shirt still tucked underneath her breasts. If the situation wasn’t so somber, he might have poked fun at her for that. She would likely jab him back with a retaliatory remark that would send him reeling. He would cross the room and kiss her. She would call him a nerd. They would watch a scary movie and go to bed before midnight. But this was not how their night was going to go apparently. “Just like… fuck, how did I  _ get _ here?”

“Emma…”

“Paul, I just… I don’t even fucking know. How did this happen?” she continued, barreling straight through whatever he was going to add. “This wasn’t supposed to happen…  _ you _ weren’t supposed to happen. Just… fuck. I’m not cut out for this shit. I wasn’t meant to be someone’s wife or fucking mother.” She threw her hands down, exasperated. Their eyes caught. She looked frustrated and tired, but there was something more… scared. She looked scared. Shaking her head, she glanced down at the ground. “Paul, what are we doing here?”

He stopped unbuttoning his shirt and thought about what she was saying. It wasn’t really where he thought he would be either. He had been pretty certain that he was going to live out his days in his small old house with his cats while he overtipped a girl whose name he couldn’t ask for. But she was there. In their home. His wife. Their baby. “I don’t know, Em,” he admitted, shrugging. “I don’t know, but I’m really glad you’re here. And with this life and--”

“See, that’s the thing,” she laughed. Not happily. Bitterly. Like she was trying to get the sour taste of something out of her mouth. “This isn’t the life I ever wanted. I don’t really know what I wanted, but  _ this _ wasn’t it. I thought… god, I thought coming back to Hatchetfield was going to be the same old shit, but here we are, right?”

There wasn’t anything he could say. His guts felt like they were twisting into knots. He thought that she was happy, too. That she wanted the life they had created together. Had he interpreted things so wrong? Did he even know what she wanted? A sinking feeling came over him as he tried to replay every moment he could think of through his mind. Was there something he missed? A sign that this wasn’t what she wanted. A point where he pushed too hard in one direction. Anything.

Her hands were balled up in fists at her sides, chin quivering as her mouth hung slack as though she were about to speak. More than anything, though, she looked as if she could cry. He could have sworn he saw her eyes fill with tears. An unusual sight. She rarely let herself fully cry in front of him or anyone else really. Once when she had a number of drinks in her, she admitted that she became an expert on compartmentalizing when she was a young child. There was no time to deal with her being upset when she wasn’t good enough. 

_ “‘Oh, Emma, stop with the dramatics.’ Even when they knew it wasn’t me being fucking dramatic. Things I would be legitimately upset about like getting picked on by all the dumbasses at school. I got pushed from the top of the jungle gym to the ground just because a kid decided he didn’t like me and I was so fucking small. My knees got all fucked, and when my mom asked about it, I just… y’know, cried. But that was me being dramatic. I could have cracked my head open or fucking broken my wrist, but it was just me being silly. So I picked myself back up and decided it was easier to suck it up and fight than to address anything.” _

The fists squeezed tightly at her sides when the first tear rolled down her cheek. “This isn’t supposed to be me,” she whispered, quickly wiping the tear away with the back of her hand. “I feel like… a fucking  _ fraud,  _ Paul.” The sinking feeling kept on, but it was different. He knew about this. He knew where she was going with this train of thought. “It’s not fucking fair.”

“Em,” he said quietly as he approached her. She held up at hand as an indication for him to stop where he was. “You’re not a fraud. I’m sure Jane--”

“You wouldn’t fucking know, would you?” she snapped back at him. Unable to stop, his eyebrows shot up in shock at her response. “You wouldn’t know because you weren’t there.” She closed the space between them and gave him a quick slap on his chest. “You didn’t get to know her.” The smacks continued. “You weren’t there, and neither fucking was I. This was supposed to be her. She was supposed to be here. It was always going to be me dying young. Not her. She was so good.” Hot tears were spilling out of her eyes at a steady pace. “You weren’t there.”

His hands reached out to grab her wrists, not really inclined to allow her to continue hitting his chest. “Hey,” he said quietly, but she simply shook her head in response. “Hey.” This time his voice was firmer. Steady. Calm. She looked up, eyes red. “What’s going on, Emma? What happened?”

Eyes searched his face. It was like she was trying to find the answer to his question somewhere in the lines that kept appearing on his face. She bit down on the inside of her cheek. Her brows furrowed, and he could tell that she was desperately trying not to cry. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, shrugging. “I’ve just been thinking a lot, and I feel fucking guilty about being here. She should be doing shit like this. Not me. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t fucking know, Paul.”

“You’re doing fine,” he told her. An honest statement on his part. She knew just about as much as him as far as anything in their lives went. She was strong and confident and a little bullheaded. She dove head first into anything she did, so seeing her be so unsure and so scared felt out of place. “Everything is going to--”

“Why didn’t you stay?” she asked, voice filling up with water.

“What?”

“On Halloween,” she clarified, staring right up into his eyes. “Why didn’t you come up? I just feel like things could be fucking different. Maybe I would’ve stayed, and Jane wouldn’t have--”

“Emma, you have to stop beating yourself up over all this,” he insisted. The grip on her wrists loosened, but before both hands could drop back to her sides, he grabbed one and held it gently in his. His eyes fell to the floor between them. “And I didn’t stay because you were drunk.”

“Come on. That--”

“And I was anxious and seventeen,” he continued. “There was this girl I didn’t know who wanted me to sneak into her house and probably end up sleeping with her when I hadn’t even been kissed before.” He looked back up into her eyes. “It’s done, but for what it’s worth, if I knew any of this was a possibility, I would have. And you probably would have rocked my horny teenage world.” A sniffly chuckle left her mouth. “But really, I would have spent my whole life with you. I still will, and we’ll figure this shit out together because, Em, you’re not alone. I have no idea what’s going to happen with all of this, but that’s life I guess. You just play it by ear.”

Another chuckle. She nodded. “I guess,” she agreed, wiping under her eyes with her free hand. “That was a very un-Paul-like thing to say, though.”

“What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.” She gave a genuine laugh at that one. He stepped aside, so she was able to see his jacket and tie thrown onto the bed. “Look at that. Nothing’s hung up or put in the hamper. Unbelievable. Who even am I?” The laughter continued as she took her hand back from him and pinched the bottom of her nose. It was an attempt to not have to get a tissue. She had done it once before when she had a cold, and he called her out immediately on it. Tonight was not the night to bother with that, though. “Everything’s going to be okay. Okay?”

Closing her eyes, she nodded. “Okay,” she repeated.

“Okay.”

“Can we get one of those backpacks that you put babies in, so we can finally start hiking?” she questioned with a sniffle. “I don’t want to fall into a hole where things are shitty and we get bored with each other and then we’ve brought a kid into the mix and--”

“Yes, we can get a baby… backpack… thing.”

“Good.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I’m sorry. I don’t fucking know what’s wrong with me. I cried when I saw a fucking dog earlier.” He laughed, and she looked up at him, face completely serious. “I’m not joking, man. I hate everything about who I am right now. It’s like PMS on steroids.” The expression on her face all of a sudden completely changed to one of surprise. She snatched up his hand and laid it flat on the side of her belly. “Wait,” she instructed, holding onto his wrist. 

He was about to question her, but then he felt something slight. Very light taps on his palm. At first, he wasn’t sure what she was going for. His eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment. Then the tap came again. His heart raced in his chest. He looked down at her stomach and then back up to her. “That’s a fucking baby,” he whispered, unable to form any other words.

“Yes, Paul,” she chuckled. “That  _ is  _ a fucking baby.” A huge grin cracked along his face. She rolled her eyes. “Oh my god.” Moving away from him, she pulled the shirt down over her middle, and just like that, it was almost as if she wasn’t pregnant at all. The shirt swam on her. Only when she moved in certain ways could he see a gentle curve in her stomach. He watched her in wide-eyed wonder. “Do you want to have a beer and watch  _ Nightmare On Elm Street _ with me?” She debated her question. “Well, you can have a beer. Two actually. One for me. I’ll have like… a seltzer or something I guess.”

Suddenly, his initial vision for their evening was coming to fruition. He sat on the couch with one arm resting on the back holding his beer. She laid out beside him. Her legs were draped over his lap. The arm in front of her laid across the couch cushion, holding a can of black cherry seltzer. Her head laid back on the arm of the couch and her other hand rested atop his. Since he felt the baby, he had yet to remove his hand from her stomach. Rather than poking fun at him, though, she found herself feeling weepy again. There was no reason for that bullshit, though, so she simply let him do whatever. 

Besides, she wouldn’t tell him, but it felt almost comforting after all the thoughts that ran through her head earlier. Almost as if somehow Jane was telling her, through him, that it was okay. That it wasn’t her fault. That it was okay that she had changed. She wasn’t an angry college drop out anymore. She didn’t need to keep running. There wasn’t a piece missing anymore that she was desperately looking for. She had come home.

“What do you think about Eli?” he posed the question out of the blue just as Johnny Depp was being brutally murdered. A sea of blood emerged from a bent mattress.

“... what about it?”

“I think it’s a nice name.”

“Yeah… I mean, I guess,” she replied, still unsure of his point.

“Gigi had a brother who was killed in one of the camps. She told us lots of stories about the trouble they’d get into when we were little. It was… his name, and I don’t know. I think it would have made her happy.”

She looked over at him, finding him staring right back. The look in his eye was excited and sad all at the same time. He was missing his grandmother tremendously, and she was well aware of that. But it was a little soon for her taste to be planning so far ahead. “We’ll put a pin in it,” she stated, patting his knee with her foot. “I’ll consider it.”

“Alright,” he responded as he looked back up at the TV, taking a sip of his beer. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Okay.” He squeezed her fingers. She had been thinking a lot about the future. How one day when their kid was the age they were, they would be into their seventies. How the baby would even like her. She knew he would like Paul. Everyone did. He was gentle and nice. Quiet. She was like a bull in a china shop. Loud and brash. She had no idea what she would do if her child felt about her like she did her own parents. The thought of it made her stomach tie into knots. 

But she looked at him and things felt different. She wondered what it would have been like to have sat in that position ten years earlier. What it would have been like bringing him over to have dinner with her parents and Jane. Coming out to see her stupid gangly Sycamore boyfriend with a boquet of flowers after she crushed it as Little Red Riding Hood in the 2004 production of  _ Into the Woods.  _ Trying to make things work at their respective colleges. Calling him up on her Motorola Razr and falling asleep as he crammed for finals late into the night. They would move in together. A little apartment to start. Just the two of them all day everyday. He would ask her to marry him sometime after they both began to settle into career paths. They would get married out on the south beach in Hatchetfield with friends and family around. Jane would give a speech that made everyone cry. Things would have been good.

They still were. She watched him jump at every possible scare. He was the biggest goob she had met in her entire life, but he was her goob. For better or worse. A smile occasionally broke out across his face when he felt little taps once in a while. At some point, his thumb started tapping back as if he was creating some secret language with the fetus. God, she still had it so fucking bad for this dude. Emma ten years ago would want to punch her in the nose.

It’d be worth that punch. Always would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also noticed that it had been asked how far along Emma is. In the first week of November, she'd be hitting five months, so we're well on our way to babytown.


	18. Bedazzled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma does an art project for Paul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I took another day to myself and I'm not sorry about it.
> 
> I actually was writing a little standalone piece for this series that will probably be up later this week. :D

The familiar jingle of the bell in the entrance made Emma want to punch someone in the face. Why was she even doing this? This was a stupid idea. She was having flashbacks to all the barely lit mornings she pushed through that same door, trying to will away a hangover. The trinkets for sale were just as dusty as the day she was fired. Their inventory had changed, but clearly, there was a limited market for overpriced pottery and beaded jewelry. The old velour couch, which gave the place a vintage vibe as per Nora when the piece of furniture into the shop, was just as ratty and gross as ever. She could remember teenage couples strewn about that couch for hours but didn’t have the heart to tell them that she was pretty sure that couch was the epicenter of every STD known to man.

The one thing that did look to be improved was the pastries. They looked fresh. Handmade even. Blueberry and chocolate chip muffins. Banana bread. Croissants. So many options that actually looked good. Why wasn’t the food this good when she was stuck there every day? She felt her stomach growl.

It was a coffee shop, so the personnel had to have changed by that point. Right? She very suddenly regretted all the choices she had made when she saw the top of a hauntingly familiar head. “Welcome to Beanies,” Zoey muttered from behind the counter without looking up from her phone. Nora must not have been around yet, which made sense considering it was just after five thirty in the morning. Zoey’s hair was blonde now. Neatly curled and shiny as per usual. Emma had to assume it was for a part in some terrible show. Zoey lazily dragged her eyes up for just a second before immediately looking back down at her phone screen. A sigh of relief was almost released until she looked back up, green eyes now going wide. “Emma?”

Emma’s eyes darted around the shop, hoping by some miracle of god a ghost or at the very least another human had appeared to take the focus off of her. But it was just them. Just like the good old days. “Um.” She pursed her lips. There were options here. She could lie. Pretend that she was not who she was. An unlikely plan to succeed, but there was a chance to maybe use Zoey’s ditsy nature to her advantage. She could just turn around and leave. Turn around. Forget the stupid sentimental plan she had stupidly planned out. Deciding those were pretty asinine after weighing them in with her other options, she went with the obvious. “Hey, Zoey.”

The young girl, maybe not as young as she remembered considering the makeup caked into her face, stared at her with a strange smile on her face. Zoey looked Emma up and down, making her acutely aware of how many things had changed since the last time she was there a few years earlier. She was grateful for Paul’s ugly red Christmas sweater at that moment; the one he claimed wasn’t ugly but most definitely was. The growth in her midsection was still evident, but not as in everyone’s face as if she were wearing her own shirts. Still, Zoey’s gaze hung there.

“Holy fuck.” 

She had never wished Zoey’s acting career had taken off more than she did in that moment. 

“You got knocked up,” she commented, eyes still wide. “And fucking  _ married.” _

“Listen, Zoey, I’m not really here to catch up. I just need a black coffee.”

“Oh my  _ gooooooddddd,” _ she roared as she shifted to pour fresh shitty coffee into a small cup. Had they gotten smaller since she left? “Did you marry  _ that _ guy? Or was it the one with the mustache? Because if it’s  _ that  _ one, I’ve got some bad news for you since he’s down here every other day trying to--”

“Not here to catch up,” Emma replied through gritted teeth. “Just need a black coffee.”

Zoey nodded, placing the lid on the cup. The cup slid across the counter, but when Emma went to pick it up, Zoey held it there. “It  _ is _ black coffee guy.” Emma rolled her eyes and grabbed the cup. “Poor guy had to buy your love.” That wasn’t entirely true. He just had to over-tip her for a while to get her attention. Zoey didn’t know shit. “Anything else?” The stupid fake smile. She wished she could smack it right off her face.

“Give me a blueberry muffin.”

Leaving Beanies felt just as relieving as any other time she dashed out the door. This time felt particularly good because she neglected to leave Zoey a tip, which felt justified. She would be equally peeved if any service person was up in her shit. She also really didn’t like Zoey. It felt a little like vigilante justice. Almost gave her a little bit of a rush. “Yeah, fuck you and  _ Godspell, _ motherfucker,” she mumbled to herself as she placed the coffee in one of the center cup holders. The car hummed to life at the press of the ignition and brake. She glanced at the clock. “Ah fuck, guess we’re going to have to go asshole miles an hour.” Her eyes had inadvertently glanced at her belly. “What am I going to do when I have to drive like a normal human? God, responsibility fucking sucks. Don’t become an adult, baby.”

Paul had been gone for a week. Mr. Davidson decided a month earlier that they would all be going out for some corporate retreat out in Ohio.  _ “We’re still going to be working, so it’s not even like a vacation but with Ted on it. And like… right before Christmas? And fucking Ohio?! This is the worst.” _ She did enjoy the various text messages she received about having to spend all day every day with Ted. It was nice to laugh at something when she felt like her emotions were throwing themselves into an open, running blender all the time. 

And the emotions were running rampant all week. It was her first time spending all that time alone in the house. The first time at all. When she sat down and thought about it on the second night, she realized it was going to be the longest time she spent not seeing him since before he started coming to Beanies, which upset her. In turn, she got angry with herself for getting so emotional. Then she received a photo of Ted passed out with a penis drawn on his forehead. That was enough to lift her spirits for that night. She settled down with Janis and Walter after the emotional roller coaster had finished its run.

Toward the end of the week, an idea hit her. It was more along the lines of something she would imagine Paul doing. Though she wasn’t even sure he was this much of a stupid sap. Maybe it was more of a Charlotte move. She’d blame the hormones if he said anything. Which he absolutely would. She spent a good portion of the evening prior sitting cross-legged on the floor of the studio. Markers and glue and glitter scattered the floor around her. By the time she was finished an hour or two later, she stared down proudly at her work. A hand absently ran across her stomach. “Oh man, he’s gonna shit his pants,” she chuckled. Taps hit against her palm. “Yeah, yeah, I’m excited for him to come home, too. Not as excited as Walt I don’t think, but still.”

The airport was pretty dead. Understandably so, considering it was six fifteen AM on a Tuesday morning and it was a fairly small airport. Limited flights. Usually used by locals or people who were local enough and felt that the price was right. Going through security took no time at all. Her little (ish) sign had to roll through the metal detector, but she swore she heard the security agent laugh quietly to herself. That in and of itself made all the glitter she’d be picking off her skin for the next ten years worth it.

She stood at the arrival gate, periodically checking her phone. There was no message about the flight running late. It hadn’t even been that long. He said that they would probably get in a little before seven. It was only six forty-five. She had only been standing there for maybe fifteen minutes. Maybe she was more excited than Walter was. The baby certainly seemed to think so, doing fucking aerobics around her middle. 

If not for the severe woman standing off to the side, she might have quietly scolded her abdomen, but as it was, she would only steal quick glances now and again at her. Curly brown hair cropped into a neat bob. Excessively good posture. She hadn’t even really fully looked at this woman and could feel the intensity rolling off her in waves. Out of the corner of her eye (where she had been watching the woman), she saw a much more recognizable shape. “Hey, you,” Melissa cooed, quickly approaching the severe woman, with her hair tied up in a messy ponytail and in what looked to be pajamas. Emma made a note to let her know she needed to stop dressing like it was finals week in public.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” she heard from across the arrival gate. She looked back towards where all the arrivals would be walking in to find Paul stopped in the midst of a group of groggy wandering people. He had his hand on his forehead half way pushing back his hair. His jaw hung slack in an open mouth smile. Face bright red beneath his thick-rimmed glasses. She furrowed her brows, confused by his reaction at first, before realizing she had her artwork facing outward: a crazy concoction of reds and golds, bedazzled with sequins, trimmed with glitter. 

“Yeah, that’s you,” she called over to him, pointing down to the sign. It read, in very ornate lettering: “nerd”. He shook his head as he laughed and muttered something to himself. Adjusting his bag on his shoulder, he pushed forward to her. Washington State sweatshirt. Those jeans she liked. Hair clearly without any product. Man, she missed that fucking nerd. 

He stood in front of her, looking down at her with a stupid grin on his face. Her stupid idiot nerd. “Hey,” he said as he let his bag fall to the ground beside them.

“Hey,” she replied, staring up at him. She was fairly certain she was mirroring his expression. Big toothy grin and all. Maybe even the pink face, too. “You gonna fucking kiss me or what, Matthews?”

Without another second’s hesitation, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against her lips. It was brief and gentle. Nothing more than a greeting kiss to everyone around. But she was really hoping that he got the message that she was going to most definitely jump his bones once he settled back in at home. Based upon the lopsided grin he wore when they pulled away, he was picking up what she was putting down.

“God, get a fucking room,” Ted grumbled as he wheeled his suitcase by them and stormed off toward the exit.

“Is he…?”

“Still mad about the penis?” Paul questioned. He pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah, he’s definitely still pissed off about the penis.”

“Hell yeah,” she cheered while he picked up his bag. “I’m proud of you. That was honestly the highlight of my week.” Her arm wrapped around the middle of his back as they trudged back out of the airport. He returned the sentiment with his free arm around her shoulders. It was nice to have him there. To be able to fall into his side. To listen to him talk. She had it bad for this smiley nerd, and that was totally fine with her.

Back at her car, he dropped his bag off into the trunk before climbing into the passenger seat. She watched him settle in, pulling his phone from his back pocket to settle in a little more comfortably. He twisted around in the seat to wrap the seat belt around himself before clicking into place. Their eyes caught. She nodded toward the coffee cup in the cup holder. “That’s for you.”

He smiled. “Thanks,” he said gratefully, bringing the cup to his lips. The joy in his face faded into disgust as he took a sip of the coffee. His face pinched as he looked down at the cardboard vessel. “Ugh, this is crap.”

“Welcome to Beanies.” He rolled his eyes and continued to drink the coffee regardless of how shitty and cold it was. The car backed out of her spot and eased out into the road outside of the parking lot. They were quiet for a little while. A tired silence. Music softly played over the car stereo. Some early morning indie calm playlist she had streaming over Spotify. She glanced at him in the process of checking her blind spots to exit off of the highway. A smirk fell over her features. “I’m glad you're home.”

“Even though you clearly want to torture me with the ghosts of coffee past, I’m glad to be home.”

“I missed you,” she admitted. Quietly and openly. Much easier than she would have normally done so. She could practically feel the beaming smile radiating off of him. He lived for that shit, and she was well aware of that face. “Also I’m going to fuck you later.”

“Holy shit, Emma,” he sighed with a chuckle, burying his face in his hands. “I just got off a red eye flight after spending a week in a room with Ted--”

“Did you fuck Ted?”

_ “Emma!” _

“Because I can’t forgive that,” she continued, turning her tone as serious as she could. “I could let Ryan Reynolds slide, but Ted? Come on. I know you have better taste than that.” 

He laughed into his hands. “There’s no break here, huh?” he murmured without moving his face from his hands. “Just jumping right back into it.”

“Nope, I have to keep you on your toes, Paul,” she replied, reaching over to pat his knee. “In all seriousness, you could take a nap first if you want.”

“No… no, that’s okay.”

She smirked. “That’s what I thought.” At a stoplight, she looked over at him to find his eyes staring back from his unbelievably red face. “Glad to be back?”

He let out a heavy exhale, the smile returning to his lips. “Yeah,” he mumbled with closed eyes and raised brows. He leaned his head back onto the headrest. “Yeah, I am.”


	19. Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul get a Christmas surprise that neither of them wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI EVERYONE! I appreciate everyone's kind words so much. You all are so wonderful, and I feel so loved and supported and I just can't thank you enough.
> 
> Here have a little thing I wrote up today. Just a content warning for childhood trauma and stuff!

That Christmas was a quiet one. Paul and Emma wanted it that way. They had spent the morning with Tom and Tim. Becky was there, too, of course, but Emma chose to mostly ignore her, taking up the mentality of not saying anything if she had nothing nice to say. Gifts were exchanged and the dreaded Christmas brunch was devoured. Although Emma had to admit, the ham and cheese quiche Becky prepared was to die for. Not that she would ever admit it to anyone, save for Paul. 

After, they traveled over to drop gifts off with Hidgens, who was, once again, deep in the creative process.  _ Workin’ Boys: A New Musical _ was allegedly well on its way into what he anticipated to be the final draft. That had been the case for the last few years, though, so time would only tell. Regardless, he was simply looking to see the two briefly to exchange presents and holiday pleasantries. When Emma began to tear up at the large box--labeled convertible crib in large letters--he completely froze up, patting the top of her head after she barrelled into him with a hug. Even Paul gave him a hug, it was all very awkward, and he was quick to wish them a happy holiday before retreating back into his house. He had a hard time denying the giddy bubbles that were gently rolling around in his stomach when he sat back down at his piano.

Paul and Emma had returned where he struggled to haul in the bulky box. Getting it up the stairs was even more difficult. She offered her assistance, but in a rare moment of unbridled masculine stubbornness in him, he insisted he was fine. The beet red face and beads of sweat that rolled down his forehead told a different story. “I could’ve helped you with that,” she insisted as she entered the room that was once his office with a glass that held a purple concoction in one hand and a drill in the other. He had been quick to offer the room up before she even had the chance to offer up what he still referred to as the studio. The reasoning being he could work from any room in the house. She had put TLC into her room, and it just felt right to let her keep that. She didn’t admit it, but she was touched. Luckily, the hormones let her be in that moment.

“No, it was fine,” he replied, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “I got it. You, uh, aren’t supposed to be lifting stuff anyway.” She handed him the glass. With a furrowed brow, he accepted it before taking a small sip. Sweet. Very clearly liquor. “What’s this?”

“Just a little something so you can celebrate the fact that I was nice to Becky all fucking morning because I can’t,” she explained. Lowering herself to sit on the floor beside him turned out to be much more of an effort than she intended. He reached out to aid her in softly landing beside him, which she begrudgingly accepted. “God, I’m really looking forward to being able to just fucking sit down again… and also, like, I really would like tying my shoes to be less of a fucking effort. Also a drink would be nice. I could go for a nice bourbon on the rocks.”

“I won’t drink that for the both of us,” he told her. Using a pair of scissors he had nabbed from the studio, he went to work opening up the box. “That’s where I draw the line. I don’t like to torture myself.”

“I guess I’ll just have to drink like somebody’s dad then. You can get into pinot grigio with two ice cubes or some shit, and it’ll just be fucking scotch for me.” The doorbell rang. Something they weren’t expecting that evening. Or really any evening. They didn’t have visitors often those days. It had been a lot of quiet evenings alone in the house. Despite the quarantine being a not too distant memory, there was something more appealing to both of them about staying home on a Friday night rather than trying to go out or have friends come in. It was especially shocking to her because she had been going crazy trying to get out of the house, and now that she could, she didn’t really want to. “Are you expecting someone? Is this your other wife finally coming to murder me?”

He rolled his eyes. “Har-de-har,” he sneered, sticking his tongue out. “But no, the answer is no.”

“About the other wife or the company? Because I’m pretty sure that one of these days that’s going to come out. Can’t wait to meet your other kids and--”

“I’ll get it. Just… stop with that.” A running dig she liked to play at him. The second family bit. It was something that made him squirm uncomfortably every time, and she wasn’t exactly sure why. But she did like to make him get all awkward and wiggly, so she got one of those in every time she could. This time, however, she was hoping he would offer to get up and see what the person at the door wanted. 

“Thank you!” she called after him as he padded down the stairs. “I love and appreciate you!” No response. “Also I think it would have been a five man operation to get me off the fucking floor!” That generated a laugh out of him. She grinned, tracing imaginary patterns against his sweatshirt that covered the protruding curve of her stomach. The only thing more satisfying than making him squirm was getting him to laugh directly afterward. It seemed that the baby was also fond of that, kicking up at her. Sometimes she wondered what the dynamic was going to be like once he was there. Would things change for them? Would they look at each other differently? Love each other more or less? It was nerve wracking yet exciting. The anticipation made her head swim.

“Why are you guys here?” she heard him ask downstairs, tearing her from her thoughts. There were other voices, clearly still outside and too difficult to hear from where she was. A woman and maybe a man with her. They sounded vaguely familiar, but from where she sat, she couldn’t be certain. “Well, that’s… that wasn’t an answer.” He sounded frustrated. Maybe nervous too. And a pinch of something else. Something she couldn’t quite put a finger on. “You don’t even celebrate Christmas… well, not both of you at least.”

Taking a deep breath in, she braced herself to lumber up to her feet. Gravity wasn’t on her side most days, preferring her to stay wherever she was sitting or laying, but she managed to haul herself back up. She wandered out into the hallway quietly, peering out into the foyer below. He stood in the doorway with one hand still on the door, knuckles going white. From her angle, she couldn’t quite tell who was outside the door, but clearly, whoever it was made his shoulders tense up like nobody’s business. “You okay down there?” she asked, causing him to jump. Strange. His head whipped around to look up at her, face flushed with that same frustration she had just heard. He just stared up at her with wide eyes and a slightly agape mouth. The only explanation was that there was a murderer at the door. That had to be it.

She slowly climbed down the stairs to join him at the door when she caught sight of a neatly chopped bob and well groomed eyebrows above gigantic blue eyes. “Ah, fuck,” she groaned, descending the remaining stairs with more haste. He lifted the hand on the door to try and get her to stop, but instead, she grabbed it mid-air and lowered it. Still slightly obscured by him, she stared dead-eyed out at her in-laws. “What the hell are you doing at my house?”

“That’s no way to address your mother-in-law,” Astrid protested, her arms folded across her chest. That whole fucking clan was so tall. Even his mother. She had to be close to six feet tall herself. Maybe a few inches shorter than he was. His father was enormous. Well over six feet tall. Broad shoulders. Barrel chested. 

“Well, it’s just the way you greet someone who wasn’t invited but showed up to your house uninvited. Now, answer the question, Astrid.” Emma chose to not acknowledge Glen’s presence. She kept her eyes on Astrid, despite Glen’s stare boring holes into her skull. “Hello? Anybody fucking in here?”

“I think you should change your tone.” Glen’s voice was low. A warning. He reminded her of someone who really should have been a rude phys ed teacher with shorts that were too short and a windbreaker that swished any time he moved while he sat in his office every night with trophies from his high school football career, where he obviously peaked, and would cry over them periodically. That would have been a better fit for him. At least in her opinion.

“I think you can kiss my ass.”

“Em, come on. It’s not worth--”

Astrid’s eyes narrowed. “Have you put on weight, Emma?” she asked, innocently enough, but the second Emma caught her gaze, she knew that she was well aware of what was going on. That was why they were there on the front porch on fucking Christmas. “You see, we’ve heard through the grapevine that there could be a new addition to our family.”

To Emma’s surprise, it was Paul who scoffed. For a moment, she was sure that she had done it herself and just didn’t realize it, but she looked up at him to find his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mom, you don’t just get to come in and fucking do this,” he said, voice firm but exhausted. “You don’t get to come out of nowhere and--”

“Well, you refuse to return my calls.”

“It’s very upsetting to your mother, Paul. You owe her an apology. Both of us.”

Her hands squeezed into fists at her sides, ready for war. The hormones weren’t making her rage-filled that day, but she knew that it was pretty likely she might cry. She was well aware that few things made overgrown meathead boys more uncomfortable than a crazy crying woman. Maybe periods. Those might have made Glen feel ill at ease as well, but she had nothing to say in that subject. But once again, shocking her, Paul continued to fight the battle for them. “Excuse me?” he barked. “I owe  _ you _ an apology? That’s rich, given the considerable amount of childhood trauma you both gave me… all of us, I think, but mostly fucking me.”

This time around, Glen’s eyes narrowed as he squared out his shoulders. “I think that girl is a bad influence on you, Paul,” he rumbled, glance flicking over to Emma briefly. “It’s a shock that she’s even still here. She doesn’t really have a reputation for sticking--”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Paul cut in once again. Her heart felt tight in her chest. How many people knew about her skipping town and thought her to be a flake? She didn’t even know these people from the time she was a kid, yet it seemed they very well knew about her. It made her feel like an ant trapped under a magnifying glass with sun shining through it.

“You know it’s true,” his father replied. His eyes shifted back and forth between Paul and Emma. “Unless you don’t. Maybe you aren’t aware, but that girl is trouble. College drop-out. Maybe even kicked out. I wouldn’t put it past--”

Paul’s hand flew from his face to smack soundly against the front door. “Just fucking  _ stop,” _ he seethed. She could practically see his blood pressure skyrocketing. Shoulders heaved with labored angry breaths. That was what she could hear in his voice earlier, now that she put her mind to it. It was anger. One side of him she wasn’t familiar with at all really. “That  _ girl _ is my wife, and she has a fucking name. So stop calling her  _ a girl.” _ His hand gestured back to her. It was shaking slightly. She rested hers on the middle of his back, just letting him know she was there. Maybe not to be tagged in. Just making sure he knew there was back up.

“Then you two have the balls to come over here and demand to be a part of  _ my _ family,” he continued before looking back at her for just a moment. Their eyes locked for a split second. Warm and electric. Familiar. Frightened. She wished she could have stepped in and put the kibosh on the whole fight. Kicked them back out into the cold of the quickly approaching evening. “Yeah.” He looked back at his parents. “You lost that chance when you started smacking me around when I didn’t do what you wanted me to.”

“You’ve gone too soft, Paul.”

Despite the tone and the look in his eyes, he laughed. His eyes fell to the ground and back up to his father, eyebrows raising. “I think I have,” he agreed. Both Astrid and Emma watched him quizzically, though this was exactly Astrid’s issue as Emma had learned. She never did anything per se. It was the lack of action. She was comfortable in her life with sons that gave her something to boast about during mahjong or tennis or PTA meetings. She would come home, have a gin and tonic, and retreat into her office space, which she dubbed “the library”, to talk on the phone for hours. While the boys were left to their own devices with their father. “And my kids are going to know that I fucking love them. That  _ we _ \--” once again he gestured back to Emma, “--love them. And… they’re not going to know you.”

“Paul,” Astrid piped up, voice desperate. A little choked up perhaps. “You don’t--”

“But, Mom, I  _ do  _ mean that,” he interjected. “I don’t want you here. I haven’t for a long time. I mean, you didn’t see me for, like, seven years and didn’t give a shit. Now that I have a life you suddenly want in. That’s fucked up.” If it wouldn’t have been wildly inappropriate, Emma might have beamed at him, but as it was, the silence was more fitting. Little kicks pounded against her. At least someone could cheer him on. “I don’t want you here. You aren’t…” his words trailed off for a moment, and his eyes looked almost regretful. Like he was going to dial it back. Take back his words. Invite them in begrudgingly. He shook his head, looking his father right in the eye. “You aren’t going to be a part of my kids life. Or mine.”

“Paul, this is unacceptable. You’re upsetting your mother even more.”

He looked over to Astrid, whose expression had warped from pointed and stern to something different. Pained. Twisted with some sort of demented grief. A regret that was surfacing for the first time. Like a sapling of anguish planted deep in her finally had grown, twisting and entwining with her insides, and was beginning to spread through her veins. A tree planted there many years ago by tiny hands she chose to not see reaching out for her. 

“I think you need to get off my property,” Paul stated, twisting his wedding band around on his finger. 

Glen’s nostrils flared. “I can’t believe this. You ungrateful little baby,” he growled, taking a step toward Paul. It was a tactic that seemed to be innate. As though it had been practiced many times over. Emma imagined a small Paul, cowering in a corner as his father tore into him. Words ripping into him like shards of glass. Big palms making contact with his gangly little body. Quiet tears wiped into the inside of his shirt when it was over.

That boy was present for a moment as that step took place. His muscles twitched in anticipation. Ready for the recoil. But he stayed where he was. Standing up straight. Shoulders back. Eyes level. Even keel. Not showing the muscle memory that was trying to take over. “You need to get off my property,” he repeated, now nose to nose with his father. It was crazy how the lumbering oaf that was Glen made Paul look small. Paul was not small in the slightest. “Or I’m going to call the cops.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the dinner plate-sized hands pressing themselves into fists. “Don’t lay a fucking hand on me.”

“You will get nothing, boy. You’ll get completely written out of the entire family.”

“Great,” he accepted. “I’ve made my own life. I don’t need anything you’ve got to give. I’m finally happy, and I don’t need you.” His eyes scanned over the older man’s face. “I’m not afraid of you anymore, and you need to leave because we’re done here.”

“You can’t--”

He inched the door closed, backing up into the house. “I said we’re done,” he reiterated as the door clicked shut.

Emma reached out and turned the bolt lock. He glanced at her curiously. “What? I wouldn’t put it past him to fucking bust back in that door,” she explained defensively. An exasperated chuckle left him while his eyes fell to the floor. Her hands rested on his forearms. “Hey.” He looked back up. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.”

“That was pretty badass.” He laughed again, this time wrapping it up with a sniffle. Tears were pooling in his eyes. “I don’t know that I could’ve said it better myself. There probably would have been way more fuck words and shit.” 

The soft laughter continued. A tear dropped onto his shirt. “Ah shit,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “I’m sorry about that… and  _ this _ . That was a lot. I don’t know why they--”

“Why are you apologizing, Paul?” she asked gently. Her hands rose from his arms to his cheeks. “It’s  _ okay _ . I mean, shit, you did the damn thing… and I fucking cry all the time these days. You can have a good cry too. Feels good, man.” Another droplet slid from his eye and dispersed at her thumb. A sad smile came across his face with another chuckle. “What can I do for you?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know.” He was shaking. From outside, she could hear the car driving back towards the road up the gravel driveway. “I don’t--”

“That’s okay,” she assured him, pulling his head down to her to kiss his stupid elf nose. “You don’t have to know, but what I  _ want  _ you to know is that was fucking great.” He sighed, a watery smile lingering on his lips as he rested his hand on one of hers. “I’m proud of you.”

His eyes dragged up to her, looking more like a scared little kid than before. Terrified and tired. She wished her delinquent self could have been there for that little boy, but she couldn’t go back now. Forward was the only direction. “Really?”

“ _ Fuck _ yeah,” she responded returning his tiny smile. “You kicked ass. Really got into the Christmas spirit there and fought with your parents.” That got a genuine laugh from him. “Do you need a drink?”

“I think so,” he chuckled, tugging one of her hands down to press a kiss into her palm.

The smile hung lazily on her lips. “Come on then, big guy,” she said, removing both hands and guiding him toward the kitchen. “We’ll dump the other one that’s probably all watered down by now and make this one a double.”

“Is it the blackberry thing I like?”

“Yeah.”

“Just… just make the new one. I’ll drink the melted one first.”

She nudged him with her hip, smiling up at him. “Atta boy!” she hollered, seeing a real smile return to his face. “Now you’re  _ really _ making me proud, but we should probably hold off on building that crib. I don’t know that I trust you to read directions or handle power tools. So how’s a drink and bad reality TV sound?”

“Amazing. Couldn’t have thought of a better plan myself.”


	20. Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul just keep finding themselves up at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying healthy and AT HOME. :D

The baby came a week early. 

Emma had never wanted to be anyone's mother. She was a terrible daughter to an equally terrible mother and knew nothing about how to care for another human being like that. Even caring about Paul had been difficult. Opening her heart up to him was one of the most trying tasks of her entire life. Allowing herself to feel love and be loved in return took so much more effort than she ever thought it would. Truthfully, though, she never thought it would be something she would have had to think about anyway. He had stumbled into her life in the strangest of ways and pulled her heart open to nurture back to life. 

The baby, however, was a different story.

The moment that cry rang through the air, she began to cry as well.  _ "It's a healthy little boy," _ the doctor had said, but she didn't care. The wriggling crying form on her chest was all that mattered in that moment. Screaming and sticky and scared. All at once she wanted to try and comfort the wails and join in with them. Her hand came up and held a soft pink back up, warm against her skin. Soft and wiggly. She could have sworn that the shrieking was in reaction to her own slamming heartbeat. Her eyes couldn't bear to open. What if everything was wrong? What if everything was different? What if she opened her eyes back in Guatemala? She couldn't imagine what she would do.

_ "Emma," _ she could hear his voice. Quiet. Filled with wonder. She opened her eyes, and the first thing she noticed was his hand. Fair and resting gently on a little head. Thumb running gently along a small cheek. Tiny little crinkled screaming face. Small pink hands reaching out for something in the cold bright world the little thing had just been thrust into. His hand moved from the tiny head to push some sweaty hair back off of her forehead. His thumb then brushed across her own temple. Soft. Comforting. Her eyes dragged up to him, seeing the watery smile on his lips. What a fucking nerd. Though, she was crying herself and only realized it at that very moment. She had been crying the whole time.  _ "Oh shit,"  _ he chuckled, wiping at the corner of his eye with his free hand but not taking his gaze off her.  _ "A baby."  _

Oh shit, it was, indeed, a baby. It was their baby. A little bundle of wonder and poop. She didn’t realize that babies poop so much. Or that a newborn’s shit would be so gross. It was okay, though. He was amazing. A wiggly, old man-looking ball of amazement. She couldn’t stop looking at him. Luckily her sleep schedule was already going to be fucked, so as she stared out into the bassinet at three in the morning, there really wasn’t any consequence. 

They had both been enamored with the little thing. Paul was quick to hop up in the middle of the night. Granted, he was an incredibly light sleeper. She was fairly certain he had just been waiting for his moment to swoop in and scoop up the baby. He looked so small in Paul’s arms. Tiny in his gym arms. She liked the gym arms almost as much as the gym arms holding the baby, and she wasn’t shy about telling him. Each time she did, he just shook his head with the smile that had yet to leave his face.

The first day they were home, Tom and Tim came over. Tim was gentle. About to enter his teenage years and clearly taking after his Houston side height-wise, he tensed up the whole time, gingerly cradling the bundle in his long arms. Tom, on the other hand, was a professional. He held the baby easily and even cracked a smile when he received a little yawn. It was a rare moment wherein he actually commended her for something in her life. For making something of her life. Settling down and being there for Tim. They had been standing in the kitchen while Paul, baby held against his shoulder, and Tim quietly talked in the living room.  _ “You better watch out, Emma,” _ Tom jested, nudging her with his elbow.  _ “He’s gonna want another. Just look at that sucker.” _ There was a broad smile on his face while he bounced around just slightly with one hand on the baby’s back and the other propping up his little butt. Paul wasn’t one to be calm about anything ever. Always uptight. Always stiff. Always buzzing about something. But he was at ease in the exact moment he wasn’t expected to be. Like something finally made sense in his chaos wracked brain. 

While the logistics of that were completely lost on her, she could almost understand as she sat on the edge of their bed, peering into the bassinet beside them. Two little legs. Two little arms. A little chest rising and falling in a quiet rhythm. He had been home for two weeks. A real fucking angel honestly. She had anticipated terror. Everything being turned upside down. Sleepless nights that turned into them screaming at each other over the screaming of the baby. He was good, though. Quiet unless he was hungry or needed to be changed. Not fussy. Slept soundly through periods of feeding. He didn’t appreciate being swaddled, but they would continue to work on that. They would get the baby burrito down yet. 

She reached out and brushed her fingers up against his stomach, covered by a onesie with ducks on it--from a set of three that was a gift from Alice and Deb. Deb liked the ducks, which was why they chose it. A close-lipped smile came over her as his arms stretched out beside him. When he would open his eyes, she was disappointed. They were her brown eyes. The one thing she had hoped for was any kid would get Paul’s big bug blue eyes. Blue like an unreal photo of the sky. Pulled directly out of the crayon box. His face squished up, almost making it look like he was going to laugh, before returning to the slack expression of slumber. She was pretty sure she could get over the eyes.

“Hey.” The bed groaned behind her. Paul’s hand landed on her hip and his head peeked around her other side. “You okay?” His voice was thick with sleep. Like it used to when she would catch him doing dishes in the middle of the night after waking up panicked over thinking he forgot to put the garbage at the curb on Monday night when the truck didn’t come to pick it up until Thursday. He slept better as time went on. Or at least he didn’t start cleaning in the middle of the night. 

She looked over her shoulder at him and couldn’t help the smile growing to a full grin when she looked at him. Hair tostled. One eye squeezed shut. Face pinched. Propped up on his elbow facing her. He looked like a little boy. “Yeah, I’m good, you doofus,” she chuckled quietly, brushing some hair off his forehead. “Just fucking cramps, and then I just kinda ended up over here.”

There was an attempt made to shift closer to her, but he looked more like a fish out of water. The laughter was hard to suppress. “Stop laughing at me,” he grumbled as his head finally landed on the bed beside her. She looked behind her. Not fully sure because of the darkness, but she was pretty certain his legs had to be partly hanging off the bed for him to be doing what he was doing.

“Well, stop acting like a fucking nerd then,” she challenged, running a hand through his hair this time around. He hummed in response with his eyes closed. Smile drifting onto his lips. It all seemed a little unreal. She could remember trying to figure out which pot of coffee didn’t have spit in it because he was always so nice with his tips. Running to her car in the rain after talking with the tip guy, who quoted Wayne Gretzky and then  _ the Office _ at her. Groaning to herself when she showed up to their first date on fucking Valentine’s Day. Scolding herself when she found herself smiling at Beanies thinking about the dinner they planned to have that night as a second date. “Remember when you couldn’t even ask me what my name was?”

“Mhm, yep,” he mumbled, burying his face into the mattress. Obviously, he was still asleep or at the very least not fully awake. “I wanna kick myself in the stupid teeth everyday over that.” His fingers trailed up her spine and rested at the base of her neck. His thumb gently rubbed at her neck. Literally every Paul was smoother than the Paul she fell in love with. Even fucking half asleep Paul. “This could have been my life sooner. I thought I was gonna--” a big yawn escaped his throat, hand resting on the back of her neck, “--fucking die alone, but I don’t think I am.”

The unspoken thing between them was that she thought the same. She was pretty sure he knew. She had never told him, but he must have known. He knew her too well. Even the things she would never say, she was positive he knew. “How do you know I’m not going to serve you with divorce papers tomorrow?” In the moonlight, she could see him arch an eyebrow. The hand on her neck fell to the bed as he pulled himself up to sit next to her. “First thing in the morning, babycakes. ‘Knock knock.’ ‘Who’s there?’ ‘ _ Gary Goldstein, attorney at law. Are you aware that my client Emma Perkins would like a divorce?’” _

A comment that might have made Paul a few years earlier nervous just generated a scoff from him. “Fuck you,” was all he could muster up as a response. He yawned again, rubbing his palms into his eyes in an attempt to try and wake up more.

“Well, and this may come as a shock, you already fucking did.”

The smirk burst out beneath his hands covering the top half of his face. His hands dropped down to his lap, and he looked over at her with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, I sure did,” he replied. Not what she expected. He raised a hand up to receive a high five, which she willingly gave him with a quiet laugh. “Nailed it.”

“Oh yeah, you think that for now, buddy boy, but when crazed geeky lawyer comes kicking down the front door tomorrow, you’re not going to be feeling so fucking confident.”

“Yeah, right. Like you’d invest any of your hard earned cash into Gary fucking Goldstein.” He leaned over to gaze into the bassinet. The grin seemed to grow on his face, which seemed impossible considering how he had been smiling at her. “You did good, Em.”

She patted his back while he ran a thumb across the bottom of a little foot. “Well, Chef Big Dick Paul really got us cooking here.” His head dropped as he tried to stifle his cackle at her joke. The whole scene was more domestic than she could have ever pictured happening in her life. A house. Two fucking cats. A husband. A child. Ten years before, she was still in Guatemala running amuck. Jane was still alive and crumbling. She felt foolish for spending so much time doing stupid shit.

A constant conflict raced around her mind. She was happy but was so certain she didn’t deserve what she had. When she watched him grin at the sleeping baby in the moonlight, she wondered how Jane felt when Tom looked at Tim. Did she feel as full as she did in that moment? Like slowing down was well worth it? “Eli,” he whispered as if he were testing the name out on his tongue. She had conceded to Eli with one stipulation: it would be Elijah so he wouldn’t be angry one day about his given name being a nickname. Paul was fine with this compromise. “Seriously, he’s so… good. God, I like him so much.”

“Oh good, I’m glad because there’s no way he’s going back in.” Once again he ducked his head to laugh before turning his stare over to her. She had gotten her fair share of unwelcome butterflies over the years when he looked at her. It felt a little like getting mail as a kid. Exciting. The anticipation of opening an envelope and not knowing what was inside or who it was from. Heartbeat racing reading sweet happy birthday messages or bittersweet “I miss you”s from friends and relatives. This stupid normal asshole made her feel more excited than standing on the rim of a volcano in Guatemala did. “Hey, Paul?”

“Hey, Emma.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, hand rubbing at his back. Her words were directed at him, but he eyes were on the sleeping child. His hand was so big compared to the little foot he was holding. Impossibly small. Delicate. Everything was just right. Tufts of soft brown hair and a button nose. Ten fingers and ten toes. A pink bow of a mouth.

“For what?”

“All of it,” she explained, continuing to rub at his back. “This is just… this is good. So thanks.” Leaning back to sit up next to her, he looked down into her eyes. Quiet and dark. Slow. They did well in the night. It was easier to feel in the dark. Something they both struggled with in the light of day even if it was getting less difficult as the days rolled by. His lips found hers softly. The kiss wasn’t wanton. There wasn’t anything ulterior behind it. Just tender contact, trying to express what he couldn’t find the words to say.

It tasted like soccer games and birthday parties. Band concerts and spelling bees. High school graduations. Weddings. Fights and late nights. Like an afternoon with just a couple beers and a kid on each of their laps down by the water. Like late morning french toast breakfast feasts. There were hints of grey hair. Rocking chairs. Wrinkles. Glasses so fucking thick they couldn’t possibly be real. He felt like fate. Like home.


	21. Chopped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul goes back to work. Emma gives another cooking lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM VERY HAPPY THAT YOU GUYS ARE EXCITE ABOUT BABY!!!
> 
> This is just pure fluff. No real direction. Just happy.

Paul had dreaded going back to work. CCRP was only willing to give him the mandatory eight weeks out after the baby came. Even though he did manage to weasel one day a week working from home, it didn’t feel like enough. He had never wished they were still in quarantine more than when he had to go back in and sit with Bill and goddamn Ted. Showing Charlotte and Bill pictures of Eli, though, was something he didn’t mind doing. The one plus of being back at work was getting to actually gush about things. About Emma. About the baby. About fucking everything. Ted wasn’t very interested about anything Paul had to say. Some might even have said he was annoyed, but Paul made sure to remember when Ted passed by a picture sharing opportunity and commented about how his kid was  _ “pretty cute.” _

Really, he just looked forward to when he could go home. Pulling out of the parking lot and making his way through downtown Hatchetfield during rush hour. Getting off onto backroads. Twisting and turning through heavily wooded county roads. Turning down that long gravel driveway. The giddiness didn’t waver a single bit even after a month had passed. Three whole months with a family of his own. Though the more the thought about it, the more he realized that they had been a family long before that. Long before even being married, which had passed its own year marker in the blink of any eye. There was just something that felt a little more exciting coming home after. Before, he longed to get home to crash on the couch with her and drink whatever alcoholic concoction she came up with that night. After, he just hoped he didn’t miss out on too much.

He quietly slipped through the door, just in case there was a nap being had inside. To his surprise, though, there was music that played softly from the kitchen. Fiona Apple maybe? He couldn’t be sure. Kicking his shoes off, he let the door click shut softly behind him. He shrugged his jacket off and hung it off the banister at the bottom of the stairs. “It’s better to get all the stuff chopped ahead of time because then Dad can help a little better,” Emma explained, cutting through Fiona Apple’s crooning. “Then you just go…  _ dump! _ ” A high pitched, nasally set of grunts. “Yep, you get it, bud. I knew you would.”

From his vantage point in the foyer, he could see her standing at the island, several bowls surrounding the cutting board she was stationed at. Beside her, there was a bouncer atop the counter facing her and away from him. It bounced around madly. She looked over in its direction with raised eyebrows and an open mouth smile. “Yeah, I know cutting the chicken was pretty gross, but you get used to it. I promise,” she continued as she grabbed an onion to place onto the cutting board. If he wasn’t finding this as cute as it was, he would have rolled his eyes. “This is the part that really fucking sucks. Let me tell ya. You’ll cry, and it fucking hurts, man. Really cuts into your bad bitch reputation.” Her eyes looked up from the onion awaiting chopping on the cutting board to the bouncer. A broad grin came over her. “But we know better than that, huh?” 

She reached out and tickled the belly in the bouncer. The expression on her face was soft. Endearing. Adoring. “Yeah, but don’t tell anyone,” she said, hand moving to brush over a little head. “You guys made me fucking soft, but I don’t mind so much. At least right now. I can still swear and it doesn’t matter because you don’t know any better, right, E?” The entire bouncer wiggled. She tilted her head to the side as if she was trying to decipher what the face in front of her was trying to say. The baby had no idea what she was saying. She was just lost in thought. Distant. Maybe even a little sad. “We’ve got a good thing going here, bud.”

Her attention returned to the onion. The knife moved skillfully and quickly across the wooden board. Thump. Thump. Thump. Everything melted into a combination of the rhythm she created while chopping and whatever Fountains of Wayne song had snuck in the background while he was busy paying attention to the scene unfolding before him. He couldn’t believe that she was there. That he hadn’t woken up yet. That this was his life. In this house. With this woman. With a fucking baby.  _ And _ two cats! It was surreal. “Are you going to come and help me or just stand there in the hallway, weirdo?” she questioned without looking up from the onion she was still busy chopping. Opposite of her, he stood completely frozen in the foyer, thinking he had been slick in his entrance. A brow arched before she looked up at him. “The door isn’t fucking quiet, Paul. Now, you can keep being weird, or you could…” She turned to look at the little guy in the bouncy chair. “Who’s here, buddy?”

In the bouncer, Eli paused a beat and then kicked around ferociously. Almost as if she has just asked a puppy the same question. Excited and curious. He tentatively strode across the foyer and then the kitchen. Like he was afraid that once the little guy saw him he’d be disappointed and no longer excited, but when he rounded the corner, all he saw was a big open-mouthed smile. All the doubt melted away in an instant. “Hey, guy,” he said softly as he brushed a hand over Eli’s head. “How was your day?” Grunts and squeaks. “Yeah? That good, huh? Wish I could’ve been there. Ted ate five hardboiled eggs over the course of the day, and I wanted to fucking die.” Tiny giggles. “Yeah, you laugh now. Wait until you meet Ted. You’ll get it.”

“Yeah, bud, he’s really the worst,” she chimed in while wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist. Her focus turned to him, the look maintaining its levity. “Welcome home, four day weekend guy.” He turned toward her and leaned in to give her a kiss only to be greeted by her palm against his chest. “Nope, go grab a pan. You’ve got work to do. We’ve already done our part.” His eyes scoured the assortment prepped ingredients, wondering what he was supposed to make out of it. “It’s that rice thing that I like. With the chicken. The one that you can fucking make, doofus.”

“Ah, gotcha okay,” he replied, loosening his tie from his neck and then slipping it over his head. He rested his hands on his hips while still looking over the ingredients. He had really been hoping they could have just ordered a pizza. The smell of hard boiled eggs was stuck in his nose still. “You know we’re going to have to clean up the language at some point.” A beat of silence. “Also, which chicken thing are you talking about?”

Sighing, she slapped his back before turning to duck into a cabinet beside the stove. “You’re useless sometimes, you know that?” she grumbled as she clattered around in the pot cabinet. She emerged with a sizable saute pan, which ended up on the stove. When she turned around, she mirrored his stance with her hands on her hips. Except she also had a smirk on her face. “And yes, I know, but for now, I’m going to use the fuck word as much as I can because you know this is going to be fucking hard on me. Now, bring that shit over, boy!”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll show you something hard on you,” he muttered under his breath, covering Eli’s ears.

“I’m sorry. What the fuck was that?”

“Nothing,” he said, smiling down at the baby. Big brown eyes stared back up at him. She was upset that they weren’t blue like his, but god, he melted every single time her eyes stared back up from Eli’s sweet little face. Chubby hands reached up to him. Damp and grabby. He moved his hands back and allowed for little hands to wrap around his index finger and thumb. When did he start doing that? He hadn’t been back to work for that long. It had been a few weeks, yet at some point in those weeks, he was seeing more smiles and hearing more giggles. His heart ached just a little bit. How disconnected his own parents were felt like a foreign notion to him. No sense could be made of it.

A hand fell onto his lower back. He glanced over his shoulder to find her face poking around him to peer in at the baby. She smiled and then looked back up at him. “I’m sorry about the hard boiled eggs,” she told him, running her hand up his back to rest at his shoulder. “You could invite Ted over, and we could poison him. No one would come looking.”

“Emma, we can’t just be willy nilly doing murders anymore,” he chided, shaking his head. “At least not in front of the baby.”

“That’s bullshit. We’ve got to start him young. Families that murder together stay together, Paul. Don’t you know anything?”

“I skipped that chapter in the parenting book I think.”

“Rookie mistake, kid.”

“Yeah, well,” he chuckled as he leaned down with the intent of kissing her forehead. He was instead greeted by a very gentle kiss on the lips. A grin pressed against his lips. “I’m a rookie, so that, um, makes sense.”

She reached under his arm to wipe a pool of drool that had been gathering under Eli’s chin and then promptly gave Paul’s ass a firm smack with her other hand. “Alright, rookie of the year, let’s get cooking,” she snickered at his wide eyes. “Right, E? We’ve got to get the peppers cooking, so they can get all nice and soft because undercooked peppers in a dish are not so fucking great.” His eyes had grown less wide while he watched her, having flashbacks to her cooking lesson with Janis in the old house. She stuck her tongue out at him. “What? He likes it when you talk to him, and  _ this _ is what I have to talk about right now.”

Eli released his hands, and his now free hand rubbed gently at his belly, eliciting a flurry of delighted kicks. “I know,” he responded, unable to take the smile off his face. “I just think it’s cute. That’s right, buddy. I said you mom’s cute and that’ll embarrass you a lot one day, but I don’t really care. I’m ready to be embarrassing.”

“You already are, so I’m glad you’re fucking ready for it.”

“I know that, but  _ hey,” _ he shot back as he pulled his hand back and moved to carry bowls filled with onions and tomatoes over to the stove where she was standing waiting for the oil to heat up. “And also, hey.” This time he took initiative and pulled her in for a kiss. A big fat smooch that she seemed hesitant to pull away from… for the first time in what seemed like ages. Which was fair. She did tell him at one point in the hospital that he was never allowed to fucking touch her ever again. Which also, in his mind, seemed fair enough. 

But by the stove in that moment, she lingered. Hand on his cheek. Lips just barely touching. Once. Twice. Her breath tasted of coffee and bell peppers. It was an oddly enticing combination. One that on a normal day would have made him wrinkle his nose, but at that second, he just wanted to stay right there. Eli, however, did not. Grunts and whimpers came from over on the island. “Go on,” she sighed, opening her eyes and patting his cheek. “You’ve been gone all day, but next time, Matthews, you’re pitching in.”

He snuck one more quick peck on the lips. “Aye, aye, cap’n,” he said with a laugh as he just about bounced over to pull Eli out of his seat. He was a long and wiggly little thing. Good and quiet and happy. But wiggly as all get out. Worming his way around in anybody’s arms. “E-li. E-li,” Paul chanted, bouncing the squirmy baby in his arms. He blew a raspberry into his damp neck. Something that he might have thought twice about even a year ago. But the hysterical giggling that resonated in the room made the gross feeling of a saliva dampened neck on his face worth it.

“Glad to be home?”

His eyes shifted over to her for a moment. “Very,” he replied and then landed another raspberry into Eli’s neck, smiling at the laughter when he pulled back again.

“Well, good because a little birdy told me you have something hard to show me, and I was pretty fucking interested in that.”

He felt his face go red and eyes go wide. His gaze shifted back to Eli. “Listen, thank god you won’t remember this because you’d probably be pretty mortified, man,” he told the equally wide eyed baby in his arms. “But also Daddy is very interested in that because Mommy is a goddamn fucking fox.”

“Jesus Christ, give it a rest, Paul.”

“I hit the jackpot, Eli,” he continued, voice wavering up and down to get more laughter out of Eli. When he succeeded, he marched onward with his thoughts. “Oh man, her butt! Whoa! And her tatties! Wow!” The baby continued with his giggle fit, and he beamed right at him. “Somebody finally appreciates my comedy.”

She leaned against the counter beside the stove and popped an errant piece of pepper that didn’t make it in the pot into her mouth. Her eyes were trained on them, and he could tell she was suppressing a grin. Still trying to be a stone cold bitch even after he was well aware she was not. “You’re a nerd,” was all she said to him before turning back to the pan. “But you’re my nerd, so I guess I’ll keep you around at least until I can get alimony out of you. Then your ass is grass, bitch.”

“Okay, listen, buddy,” he brought his tone down to an exaggerated whisper. “You have to sleep really well tonight because--”

“Stop telling the baby about our sex life. God al-fucking-mighty.”

“Well, you said I was never allowed to touch you again, which was totally fine, but you’ve had a change of heart and I’m very excited about that. Also I think I remember you saying he likes it when you talk to him.”

Her mouth opened to give him a snappy response but shut without another word. She simply shook her head with a stupid smile on her face. “Yeah, what can I say?” she began, pushing the pepper around in the oil. “I just kept thinking about your fucking mouth today and how we’re going to have this nice dinner with some nice glasses of some kind of booze.” She twisted around to look at him over her shoulder. “And then we’re probably going to makeout a bunch.”

“Just makeout?”

“Oh no, I’ll be getting a full fucking service. Not even a question.”

“Okay.” He nodded, now simply holding Eli propped up in the crook of his arm. “Okay.” He glanced down at the baby, continuing to nod. “Okay, yeah, I think I can manage that.”


	22. Inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul find themselves in a familiar scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little content warning here because there is some description of gore in here!

The air was thick and it felt like a bright light was shining down on Emma’s face. Humid. Like a wet blanket was hanging over her. It couldn’t have been a natural light or heat. It felt more like a spotlight. Something bright and close. The warmth around her was like dozens of people were all sitting around her. Shallow breaths. Anticipation. And fuck, her leg was killing her. She opened her eyes, very concerned when she wasn’t just imagining the heat and light. Very concerned that she wasn’t in the bed she fell asleep in.

She looked down at her hands. Bare. And worse than that, she was in her fucking Beanies uniform. Nothing got better from there either. A bandage wrapped around her left thigh. Blood lightly seeped through at its sides. “Well, according to our records, you two are  _ very _ good friends. P.E.I.P. would like to see it become something more.” She looked up to find Melissa’s girlfriend staring back at her winking. What the fuck was happening? Where the hell was she?

The woman disappeared through a doorway, door squealing shut behind her. The space was very clinical. Sterile. A hospital-type of place maybe. A clinic of some sort. From beyond the door, footsteps could be heard. Perhaps her good friend was supposed to come through the door. She glanced down once again, taking note of the backpack on her shoulders. Aqua. Lightweight. Was she back at school? Also… was that fucking  _ blood _ on her shirt?

Once again, the door squeaked open. Her eyes returned to the door, expecting Melissa’s weird military girlfriend to be back to tell her this was some sort of weird joke. But it wasn’t her. “Oh my god,” she gasped. A smile was coming back to her face. Something familiar. “Paul?” There he was. In that stupid suit he was wearing when they met. Big eyes set on her. So blue. Extra blue even. A broad grin broke out over his face. “You made it?” He dashed over to her and they caught each other’s arms. Relief washed over her to see him. Like she was feeling as though they would never see each other again. “We made it!”

She wasn’t entirely sure what they were making it out of but threw herself against him anyway. It was a joy to see him there. Things didn’t make sense in that moment. He always did, though. A constant. Stable. Normal. His chest smelled like soot and alcohol. Like the sanitized place they were in. But also like something else. Something sweet. Sickeningly sweet almost. Like burnt caramel. Like pie filling that spilled over into the bottom of the oven. “Emma, I’m sorry,” he hummed into her ear. She froze. A chill ran down her spine. “You lost.”

“Paul?”

When she looked up at him, his face was calm. Unnervingly so. Paul was not a calm person, yet there he was shining a tranquil smile down at her. “Emma, I’m  _ sorry _ you lost your way.” Fucking singing at her. She couldn’t focus on the words being crooned at her as he spun her around this fucking bright room. Was it even the lights above her making her warm? It felt like she had stage lights on her. What the hell was going on. 

“I’m still the man you trust.” Fuck no he wasn’t. She didn’t know this singing and dancing monstrosity. In fact, he was terrifying. He was  _ hurting  _ her. Her wrists ached from being thrown around the room. This wasn’t Paul. “Before I had no ambition, but now my life is a song.” That wasn’t true. Yeah, he wasn’t the most ‘go get ‘em’ kind of guy, but Paul wanted things. He had goals and shit he wanted to do. “Don’t you want to see me happy? Is that so tragically wrong?” Was that fucking  _ Hidgens? _

She spun around again. A familiar face eerily smiled back at her. The same soulless smile that he and Hidgens both wore. “Alice?” it was barely audible out of her mouth. Why was she dressed up like some fucking 1940s nurse? They were all so coordinated. All the same movements. Harmonies. Lyrics. He pulled her around again. Still singing at her. She felt like she was underwater. More dead-eyed singing faces stared back at her. Bill. Ted. Nora. Paul’s boss (she didn’t know his fucking name).

“It’s inevitable--” He looked her directly in the eyes. They weren’t his, though. When she really looked at them, they were electric. His pupils were huge and almost seemed to be pulsing. She could have sworn she saw burns on his neck, but they were tinged blue. What the fuck? His eyes closed, and for a moment, he was the same old Paul again. Grinning. Pulling her hands to his face to kiss her knuckles. But he was holding on too hard. He was hurting her. Paul wouldn’t do that, right? “--for us.”

When he released her, she ran as fast as she could out the door on the opposite side of the room. The hall was much darker than the room they had been in. Clothes and shoes and bags littered the dimly lit space. Pieces of paper hung on the walls. Call lists. What the fuck? She found another door at the end. Thank god.

The door flung open with a shriek to reveal the kicklining people. It was the same room. “Is it just a fucking loop?” she cried, dread filling her stomach. Everything was just a little different. The far wall had knocked down into darkness. Were there people out there? There was laughter and jeering. She squinted to try and see what was going on, but the lights were too bright. Everyone looked different too. Bill had blue oozing from a hole in the side of his forehead. Hidgens’s blazer was stained blue at the lapel and his black turtleneck was soaked through his stomach. Ted had the same blue dripping from a huge hole in the center of his chest, pooling at his dancing feet. Nora’s entire neck was ripped open, gashes of blue and flesh staining her white shirt. Paul’s boss had electric blue bruises around his neck, and blue dripped from the corners of his eyes like tears. Alice simply had lines of blue drool escaping from the corners of her mouth. All the creepy smiles directed right at her. 

She ran over to the side of the room she left on, hoping something had changed in her favor, but they all turned toward her. Screaming at her. The words didn’t even make sense. Except for Paul singing on her name. His eyes were wide. Crazed. Blue gashes had come over his entire face. Bruises. Blood. Shrapnel stuck into his neck. His shirt had tears in it. The tie around his neck was cut in half. There were drips of blue everywhere. She felt herself beginning to cry when Ted and Bill dragged her across the room. Even Ted’s scrawny arms were holding her tighter than she thought possible. The grip was too much. She could tell there were bruises forming all over her arms.

This was one of Hidgens’s songs. They all lined up like a bunch of fucking Rockettes. She looked at him. His eyes wouldn’t meet hers. Like Paul’s, they almost glowed. Actually, his mouth was glowing. All of them were. Blue. There was so much blue everywhere. Was she in hell? Paul came kicking up to her, singing along with a song she knew he had never heard before. This must have been hell.

The singing shells of people she knew so well (save for Paul’s boss, who the hell even was that guy?) ran around her in a twisted cyclone. Touching her. Smiling at her. Singing at her. She couldn’t remember feeling more fearful in her entire life. She just wanted to go home. They all stopped in a line before her. Lined up. Grinning twisted grins. Evil. It all felt very evil. Paul was behind them smirking, looking like some fucked up comic book villain. It wasn’t her Paul. This wasn’t even a person.

They backed her to the now empty wall. She tripped at the edge of the room, falling to face them all. Dead-eyed and fatally delightful. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the dozens of people she felt breathing on her earlier. She shot her head to the side. Dark dead eyes. Empty black smiles. “Please, help me,” she pleaded, but they simply laughed, snapping a picture of her with a cell phone camera. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she turned back to the group of blue gooped weirdos. All she could see was Paul’s face, illuminated by some spotlight. Grinning maniacally. Eyebrows turned downward. Eyes crazed. Blue dripped from his wounds as he lunged toward her.

She shot up in bed, screaming. It was dark and cool. The air conditioning was running. Cries hushed in the distance. Footsteps came running down the hall. Her heart was drumming in her ears. She felt like she couldn’t breathe even when she was gasping for air. Fingers clutched at the sheets around her. Where the fuck was she now? Did she die and now she was in the second fucking ring of hell? It was so dark she couldn’t see a thing.

The door flung open “Emma?” Light flooded her vision, blinding her temporarily. Another shriek left her lungs, but it didn’t even feel like her doing it. It felt like some outside source was coming over her and suffocating her. “Emma, hey. Look at me. Hey.” Her face was hot with tears and fear. When her vision came to focus, she saw his face. Quiet and nervous. She winced away from him, feeling her heart begin to race even faster. The baby was screaming. “Em, what--”

“Don’t touch me!” she hollered as she inched toward the edge of the bed. “Don’t… don’t come fucking near me!”

His face was panicked and smooth. Eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Emma, what did I do? What happened?” He moved toward her again and she shirked further away. His shoulders sagged. “What happened?” The screams felt so close the baby could have been in the room with them. He ran a hand over his face. “Fuck, hold… hold on a second.” He ran out of the room again, wearing those stupid Marvin Martian pajama pants she could remember making fun of. Her eyes darted around the illuminated room. Yellow. Cathedral ceiling. There was an empty baby bottle on top of her dresser. A set of his socks sat on the floor in front of the hamper. They hadn’t made it in.

The screaming turned to whimpering. Sounds move back up the hall and through the open door. He was back, so was the little wiggling baby. “Hey, come on, buddy,” he cooed, bouncing a fussy Eli in his arms. “We’re all good.” He looked back up at her for reassurance. There were no words that could come out of her mouth. She blinked at him, still trying to catch her breath. “It’s okay.” He sat as far on the edge of the bed as he possibly could to keep his distance from her. “Maybe you both had a bad dream. Do babies even dream?” His glance shifted to her.

An exasperated chuckle left her mouth. She was still crying, but this was Paul. She was pretty sure at least. He sat there with the whimpering baby in his arms, bouncing ever so slightly. Nervous and gentle. Eyes the color of the sky. Skin smooth and tinged with pink. Hair a mess. She slowly moved toward him. Cautious. Anxious. Worried he was going to turn to her and begin singing at her again. Chasing her around the house trying to kill them. His arms loosened for her to scoop the baby out of them. Eli’s little face was squished and red from screaming his head off. The weight in her arms felt good. Felt right. “You were trying to kill me,” she whispered without taking her eyes off the baby. “You were chasing me around trying to kill me, but you were… fucking singing. It was a lot more fucking terrifying than it sounds I promise.”

She glanced over at him to find him staring at her strangely. Eyebrows furrowed. Lips pursed. He looked concerned. “Really?” was what he landed on. All she could do was nod, wiping underneath her eyes with her index finger. His face looked shameful. Sorrowful too. Like he knew exactly what she was talking about. Like he had been there. “I’m sorry.” He moved closer to her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She leaned her head against his. A small kiss pressed against her skin. 

This had to be her Paul. The real one. But the other one felt real, too. Maybe that’s how dreams felt. Maybe this was the dream. She shook her head before turning to return the kiss onto the top of his head. He lifted his head to be nose-to-nose with her. He looked tired. Grey hairs were popping up at his temples. She knocked her forehead against his, closing her eyes. She was tired, too. Lips found hers. Tender. Soft. Pleading for this to be the reality. She opened her eyes, and he was still there. They both glanced down at Eli, who had blinked his way back to sleep in her arms, suckling at the air in his baby dreams. Paul reached up and ran a thumb gently across the top of Eli’s head before resting it on her cheek. 

He pulled her into another kiss. One more desperate. Apologetic even. Deeper than the other one. It felt like he was trying to pull her back into this reality. As if he knew the hell she had been thrust to and from. She let him bring her back. This was where she wanted to be. When he pulled away, her heart shuddered in her chest. Their eyes caught each other. He was still so close. His breath tickled her face. She kissed him once again. Taking in how he felt against her mouth. Soft. Forever. Real. This was real.


	23. Photograph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma goes back to work and Paul deals with his co-workers while their boss is out of town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a twofer! 
> 
> Sorry if it's a little disjointed. I was just having fun today!

“Paul, this picture is downright the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen,” Melissa mused as she leaned against Paul’s desk with her coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. Summer had blown by too quickly. By the time August was coming to a close, he realized he hadn’t used any of his vacation time. A fact that hit him hard when he came home from work to find Eli was suddenly able to sit up all on his own. Made evident by the smiling face sitting on the table between Emma and Hidgens, reaching out to him as he stood in the doorway. 

He had been scrolling through the calendar, trying to see when the prime opportunity to take a week or two off would be when Melissa had made her way over to him. “What picture?” he inquired without taking his eyes off the screen. It was a strange opening line for her to have after nearly five minutes of loitering, but that was pretty typical Melissa. She liked coming over to gossip with Bill and Ted and poke fun at Paul.

She sighed, scrolling back up to the spot on her feed that she had been referring to. Her phone was shoved into his face. It was Facebook because of course it was.  _ Emma Perkins updated her profile picture _ . That she had. In the circle below was a photo that they had taken the weekend prior. He couldn’t help but smile.

Emma had burst through the front door after having lunch with Melissa. He was seated at the island with a book in hand, having just put Eli down for a nap. What appeared to be a heavy duty lunch box plopped onto the counter next to him.  _ “Mel said she’s upset that we don’t have any wedding photos,” _ she explained as she leaned her back against the counter so she could face him.  _ “She lent us this niceass camera with, like, a remote or some shit to take pictures. Want to sell it on eBay?” _

They did not sell the camera on eBay.

Instead, they found themselves in the backyard a little later in the afternoon. A beautiful sunny day. Warm but breezy. He was in that navy blue suit with the deep red tie. It was nice to see that it fit just as well as it had over a year and a half beforehand because his time at the gym had drastically decreased. When she slipped through the back door, he felt his heart race just as much as it had that afternoon in April. Just has much as it had when it was his turn in line at Beanies. She didn’t get any sort of dolled up this time around, but her hair had gotten so long. It hung just below her shoulders at that point. No makeup. No nothing. Just the dress. And the baby, dressed in a white onesie that read “shits and giggles” a gift from Ted. Wide eyed. Hand in his mouth, which was beginning to have a smile grow across it.  _ “Someone woke up. Think he felt left out.” _

The photo on Melissa’s phone was one of the ones they had taken that afternoon. They were all out in the backyard. The pond glittered in the background, reflecting the afternoon sun. Emma’s head was thrown back in laughter. Eyes closed. The biggest smile possible. Eli was giving a similar look, being held to face outward in front of Emma. Open mouth grin. Eyes crinkled. Face pinched. He really looked an awful lot like her. Paul was on the far left. It wasn’t his most photogenic moment. He was crouched down to be at eye level with Eli. Cheeks puffed out. Eyes wide and crossed. The cause of the laughter.

There was a caption above the photo:  _ I was going to choose a nicer picture, but this is a little more true to life. Also we had a baby. Surprise! _

“Did you guys, like, not tell everybody?” Ted piped up, browsing his own phone with furrowed brows. “Are we fucking special or something?”

“Yes, Ted,” Paul sighed, unable to wipe the smile off his face. “You’re very special.” He opened Facebook up on his own phone to find that he had been inundated with notifications. Tagged in 28 photos by Emma Perkins. This person liked this photo. This person commented on that photo. “Holy shit.”

“Baby’s out of the bag now, huh?” Ted muttered, glancing back over at Paul. His eyes went serious for a moment. “Do your parents know?” There were times that he forgot he and Ted hung around a lot as kids. They had grown up in the same neighborhood. Ted was an only child and a little bit of a dick. Paul was definitely not an only child and the only person with enough patience to tolerate him. There were a lot of evenings spent riding bikes and eating snow cones by the decommissioned railroad bridge. Legs dangling. Talking about girls. He remembered getting bopped on the back of the head when he told Ted about not staying and making out with Margot Tenenbaum on Halloween. He remembered Ted nodded solemnly when he talked about his dad throwing him against the bookshelf when he refused to go out for lacrosse in high school. 

“Yeah, well, they know it was something that was going to happen,” Paul explained, scrolling through the variety of pictures. “But you know it’s not like I’m calling them with updates.”

“Good news, Paul. I’ll be your dad now.”

“Ted, no.”

“Come on and take a seat on papa’s lap. Tell me about your day, son.”

“If anything, Bill is all of our dads,” Melissa added as she took a sip of her coffee. “And Charlotte’s like our fun kooky cat lady aunt. I’m clearly the golden child. Ted’s the least favorite child--”

“Fuck you!”

“And Paul is the middle child. Kinda plain. But he does alright.”

“Glad you think so highly of me, Melis,” Paul mumbled, not fully paying attention to the argument now blossoming between the golden child and the problem child mediated by dad. The album of their photos on Facebook was titled:  _ So this one time at quarantine I got married and had a baby. _ Above the title:  _ posted 37 minutes ago. _ His phone buzzed and a notification from Emma popped up. Well, he assumed it was from Emma, and she just renamed herself  _ DESTROYER OF WORLDS _ in his phone. The message contained a cropped image of his face from her profile picture. Attached was a text:  _ work reeeeeaaaaallllllllllly sucks right now but i made this the wallpaper on my computer. makes it a lil better. also thoughts on pizza for dinner? _

“Oh, Paul!” Charlotte gasped, gripping onto his shoulder while looking at Melissa’s phone. “He’s absolutely adorable. Big, too. Emma looks fantastic also. Your family is just… oh, just so beautiful.” Leave it to mom to lay on the gushing.

He smiled back at her briefly as he saved one of the photos to his phone in order to email it to himself. “Thanks, Charlotte,” he replied. “They’re… great. I did something right--”

“Oh fucking gag me,” Ted groaned.

“Are you into that, Ted?” Melissa shot back.

“No, but our boss is,” Ted informed, glancing over at Paul with a smirk. “Or so I’ve heard through the Paul Matthews grapevine.”

“Paul,” Bill took his turn to gasp. “You didn’t… you know? Did you?”

“No,” Paul moaned with his face fully engulfed in red. “I didn’t… I was  _ just _ trying to turn in my weekly report to him and Carol was there in his office… and god. Fuck you, Ted.”

“Oh, Paul, lighten up. He won’t be back until next week and… hey, I got your kid that shirt! You  _ do  _ love me!”

“No, I really don’t.” It was getting a little more difficult for Paul to deny Ted’s friendship, though. Regardless of their childhood friend status, he was really trying to reach out in very Ted ways. Like getting his child a onesie with a swear on it unprompted by Charlotte to do so. Also drunk Ted had a habit of texting him as of late to remind him how much he missed hanging out like when they were kids. If Ted wasn’t such an asshole, it would have almost been sweet. “But Emma did really like that.”

“Well, hey, the crabby one loves me. It’s a fucking start.”

He pulled open in Outlook inbox to pull the photo from the email. In a matter of seconds it was the background on his screen. The three of them. The precursor to the one she was fond of. She stood holding Eli, smiling down at him as he stared up with wide curious eyes at Paul who was grinning back down at him. His hand rested somewhere on her lower back. If he had just seen it in passing, he would have thought it might have been someone’s actual wedding photo. So maybe it was a little less true to life as far as chaos went, but did it ever capture the essence of the glowing joy.

_ Pizza sounds great. You want to grab that and I’ll pick up wine? Don’t know what pairs with pizza tho. _

It didn’t take long at all to get a response.  _ i knew i loved you for a reason. get the kind with alcohol in it. read somewhere that pairs well with some za. also john went for the work from home pitch. guess who gets to work from muthafuckin home 3 days a week? he’s a sucker for mushy shit. thank god. tell you more when i get home. sausage and onion right? _

_ Yes oh mighty destroyer of worlds. You know me so well.  _

_ idk what the wife version of the oscars would be but nominate me for it. nobel prize in wifery? idk i’m the best. _

“Quit your smiling, you fucking weirdass,” Ted grumbled, smacking at Paul’s hands with a ruler. “And get off your phone or I’ll tell on you.”

“Fuck off, Ted. You’re just mad someone actually wants to talk to me.”

“Listen to you two, dickweeds,” Melissa, who was still standing against Paul’s desk, sighed. “You fight like a couple of toddlers.”

“Imagine having to sit here every day,” Bill said without looking away from whatever he was doing on his computer. “They test my patience _all_ the time.”

Choosing to ignore Bill, Paul continued to look at his phone, reaching out to smack the ruler away when Ted went to pester him again. He sent a picture of a gold star that read “thou hast made a valiant effort”  _ I think that’s what they give out for that prize. _

Almost immediately, he got a response. The same gold star with a different message: “its ok honey not everyone can be funny.” And he fucking laughed. Every goddamn time. Every freaking insult and jab. Another message popped up:  _ love u papi. _

And  _ that _ was exactly how she got away with all of it.


	24. Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul get a night off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will respond to some comments in the next day or two. I just wanted to get another guy out since it's hot off the presses.

It was their first night baby-free since Eli was born. Alice and Deb had offered to take him for the night while they stayed with Bill for the weekend. After a lot of hemming and hawing, Paul finally agreed. There was also a lot of convincing on Emma’s part. Alice was a very responsible young woman and babysat her way through high school. Deb was gentle and kind and very likely would introduce their son to weed quite yet. And Bill would be there. Bill was the kind of guy who would say CCRP is just his occupation because his job was being a dad. Eli was going to be okay.

The original plan was to go out. Have a nice dinner. Get a couple of drinks. Go to bed at nine. Normal adult things. But work was running late for Paul. He had worked from home, so he was able to just keep working past the five o’clock general closing time. There was no Melissa or Ted to bother him about being an overachiever. No Bill to say how worried he was that Paul might be working himself too hard. And certainly no Charlotte who was there later than anyone most days, quietly lingering and typing away at her laptop. Distant but sweet.

“What are you doing?” she asked leaning against the doorway to the space where his desk and books had moved. He was in the basement now when he worked from home. When he offered up the office for Eli’s bedroom, she commented how the basement was a space they really should fill. Fully finished. Carpeted. Walls painted. They had used it briefly during the quarantine as a very sad and very limited home gym. There was no reason to not continue to use the space except for it being a little chilly. It was a perfectly decent space.

He leaned back in his chair, pulled his glasses off, and ran a hand over his face. “I’m, um, still working,” he admitted. “These reports are kicking my ass, and just having the one screen is killing me. Mr. Davidson will have my head if I don’t have these in by the end of the night. I’m almost done, though, I swear.”

Crossing the room, she stopped beside him and looked over his shoulder at the spreadsheet he had open. “Yep, looks like fucking numbers,” she commented as she placed a glass next to his laptop. He glanced up at her curiously, taking in her HFHS Theatre 2004 worn out t-shirt and the crummy pair of old shorts she wore to paint. “Don’t worry, Einstein. This one’s light, but it’s almost seven o’clock. I’m drinking a double.” His hand reached up and rested at her side, thumb trailing just underneath her shirt over the curve of her hip bone. Eyes remained on her. She rolled hers. “So try to wrap it up. I’d like to eat dinner at a normal human fucking hour.”

With a pat on his shoulder, she was slipping back upstairs again. He looked at the clock on his phone. 6:57. It was nearly seven. Their window to go out and grab dinner was waning, but he needed to get the work done. It was nearly there. He couldn’t afford to have Mr. Davidson get on his ass about anything. Review time was drawing near, and he needed that bonus to be as high as he could get it. Babies were fucking expensive. He had been aware of that, but it hit differently once they were in it. 

Tabs switched back and forth. Numbers. Charts. Figures. He jotted down a number here or there. Sometimes a few letters were scribbled in. Part of him wanted to rush the few remaining items on his list, but he knew he shouldn’t. Eye on the prize. He sipped the pink drink she had placed beside him. Sweet with a smack of tart right at the end. Cold and refreshing. Definitely very alcoholic. He wasn’t entirely sure she knew how to make a light drink, but it did taste damn good. 

He had to take it easy on the drink as he copied down the last few numbers. Plugging in them into the document from the sheet of paper he had been scribbling on. As he rounded the corner to victory, he did indulge in the drink a little more, savoring the warmth as it rolled down his throat. When his head began to swim while attaching the document to send off to Mr. Davidson, he realized that he had worked straight through lunch but powered right through his drink. He pressed his forefinger and thumb into the corners of his closed eyes beneath his glasses. Finally fucking done.

Clicking into his sent folder just to be sure his email went through, he saw her enter the room again out of the corner of his eye. He glanced at the time on his laptop. Quarter after eight. “Shit, Em, I’m really sorry. I just finished and…” his voice trailed off as she slid onto his lap between the desk and him. “Oh, um, hey.” She had changed from the house clothes she had been wearing when she came down earlier. He swallowed hard.

The costume change had been pretty drastic. She wore a deep emerald green satin number. Plunging v-neck that ran all the way down to her sternum. Lace trim on the inner hem of the v. Clearly no bra. He brought a hand up to her hip. Barely there underwear. “I’ve been trying to fucking seduce you, but your stupid nerd ass couldn’t just leave it for Monday,” she said, holding his chin in her hand. His eyes went wide and face burnt red. They must have looked like Christmas next to each other. “Bill said you’ve been killing yourself at work. Gotta take a break sometimes, Matthews. Have a little fun.”

“I can have fun,” he assured her. His other hand found its way to the small of her back, his skin cool against hers. She chuckled and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Her hair fell over her shoulders and tickled his cheeks as he found himself very close to the pulse point on her neck. Despite the nervous school boy screaming in his head, he pressed a kiss against her skin. He could feel the chuckle in her throat. “What?”

She pulled away from him, holding his face in her hands. The smile on her lips was not the usual teasing one she wore. There was something softer in it. Something that very much mirrored how he felt every time he looked at her. While he felt captivated by it, he was having a very difficult time keeping his eyes up. Between the fucking babydoll and the boozy drink, he couldn’t keep his shit together. “I just really fucking like you,” was all she said in response.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he laughed lightly. “Y’know, considering the house and the marriage and the cats and the kid.”

Her thumbs ran along his cheekbones, humming in response. It was a rare very tender moment from her. She was always joking and jeering. Trying to make light of most emotional moments, which was okay. He knew how she felt even if she liked to play it cool most of the time. Even without moments like this one, being with her felt good. Loving her felt good. Being loved by her was indescribable. Like waking up feeling the world is just a little bit better and brighter. Like things were possible. Like they were right.

“Do you ever think about having another?”

The question caught him off guard. Pulled him directly out of his thoughts. He arched an eyebrow at her. “Another what?” he asked, thumb running over the band of her underwear. Her hands dropped his face, and right away, his gaze focused on her chest. He was an ass man, but when handed a nice set of boobies on a green lace platter he wasn’t going to say no. It was making it very difficult to think of what she could possibly be asking about. 

She pushed his face up to look at her again. There was a smirk perched on her lips. “You’re real fucking out of it, huh?” she teased, giving his lips a quick peck. “Take a break sometimes, Paul. The world isn’t going to fucking end if you take a lunch break. I promise.”

“Cross your heart?”

“What the fuck does that even mean? I never fucking got that. Why would I cross my heart? That’s fucking dumb. I certainly wouldn’t hope to die. What kind of dumbass does the person who came up with that shit think I am?”

He leaned his head back with laughter. It was nice that when he got too serious or dove too deep into work or anything really that she was there to pull him back up for air. What is yin without yang, after all? He looked back at her again, taking her in. Long sharp features. Freckle right below her left eye. Itty bitty nose. Everything the same as the first day he saw her. Although the hair had grown a little more untamed. Loose curls falling around her face like a lion’s mane. He bet Eli was going to have the same hair. He hoped so at least. “Wait. Another?” he repeated, beginning to crack the code.

“Oh, did you get all your investigating done, Sherlock?” she laughed, patting his chest. His eyes were wide. Mouth agape. But he nodded. “Finally catching back up, big guy?”

“Emma, are you joking? Like, that whole thing where you’re going back to the whole primal urge thing and--”

“Jesus Christ, Paul. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“It’s the anxiety, Emma. Come on. Catch up.”

“I took my lunch break. Thank you very much. I’m not out of it like you are,” she shot back as she ran a hand through his hair. “And I stopped working at five o’clock because mama needed a drink.”

“Emma.”

“Paul.”

“Were you being serious?”

She shrugged, still smirking. Mischievous. “Yeah, why not?”

His hands squeezed around her hips. “Emma,” he groaned. “That’s not a thing you’re just like ‘yeah, whatever I guess.’”

“You’re right,” she agreed with a nod. “I wouldn’t be like that because I sound nothing like that.”

“Em, come on.”

She leaned forward again and took his face in her hands. “Paul, do I ever bring shit up like that if I’m fucking joking about it?” she asked, breath tickling his skin as she kissed his jaw. Her hands trailed down his neck and arms and then back up his stomach and onto his chest. Lips pressed lightly along his jaw before dipping down onto his neck. “But how do you feel about it, papi?”

“I, um, well,” he stuttered. Words were catching in his throat. Between what she had just asked him and the fucking teeth grazing his neck, he couldn’t focus on anything. He cleared his throat. “I… yeah. Yes.”

He could feel her smile against his skin. “You feel yeah yes about that?” she wondered as her lips made their way back up his neck. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Their eyes met. She held his chin in the palm of her hand again, smile lingering on her face, but her eyes were steadfast. Certain. “Is that what you really want?” he asked, trying to keep himself together. “Because I think you fucking know how I feel.”

“Would I have asked if I didn’t?” she pressed. There was a grin spreading over his face to mirror her own. “I think Eli would probably like a friend that isn’t Walter.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“I’m sorry, but my child isn’t going to be that kid whose best friend is their fucking cat.”

“Listen, before you came along, Janis was my best friend.”

“Case in fucking point.”

“You have a really weird way of trying to seduce people.”

She twisted to move the laptop off to the side. “Well, cowboy, let’s get to it,” she announced, turning back to face him. He stared back at her with raised eyebrows. “Oh, tell me you haven’t had this fucking fantasy, and I’ll call you a fucking liar.”

“Oh my god, Em.”  
“Chip chop, bud. Let’s get to the desk fucking, so we can eat dinner and then get a lazy round two in before bed.”

“Okay… yeah, alright.”

“That’s what I thought.”


	25. Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fam goes to a fall festival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here. Have a wholesome content.

That year they didn’t do a normal Halloween. Most of the time, it had included copious amounts of drinking and costumes, but this time around, their plans weren’t even taking place on Halloween. The weekend before the actual holiday was the annual Hatchetfield Harvest Fest. Something neither Paul nor Emma had indulged in despite all their combined years in the town. The only other option they had was Melissa’s Halloween party, which was a no go for lack of babysitter. At least, that’s what they told her.

“Do you think Melissa’s going to be mad when she finds out we just didn’t want to go?” he wondered as he closed the back door to the Prius. An olive green diaper bag slung over his shoulder as he watched her ease Eli out of his carseat. “I’m just saying I feel like she’ll resent me for, like, the next three months if she finds out.”

From the other side of the car, she popped up in her old oversized beanie with the pom on top--largely because it was cold for October, feeling more like a mid-December day than late October. For just a second, he felt as if they were living a life so much earlier. She looked so young and bright eyed that he forgot they were going to be leaving their mid-thirties soon enough. A small pudgy face poked out next to hers. Big toothless smile. His own knit cap atop his head. Mustard yellow with black stripes and a black and yellow pom on top. “Well, then papi needs to not fucking rat us out on Monday when he sees Melly Mel Mel, huh?” she replied animatedly, bouncing the baby up and down with each syllable. “Because snitches get stitches, right, buddy?”

Mad giggles and big happy smiles. It would have been a shock to anyone that he was a nightmare the night before. Screaming. Unconsolable. He had begun teething, and obviously, there was very likely going to be a tooth breaking through within the next few days. “Okay, fine,” he sighed exasperatedly even if the grin on his face gave away his real feelings. He rounded to the side of the car where she was situating Eli in her arms. “But just know when I don’t come home one day, it’s because Melissa might have murdered me.”

“You gotta risk it to get the biscuit,” she said, knocking her hip against his. He glanced down at her with his tongue stuck out. “Get a load of this guy, E. What a fucking joker.”

It was fifteen dollars a head to get into the festival, which he thought was a little overpriced for an experience the baby wouldn’t even remember, but went along with it anyway because she was oddly enthusiastic about the festival. She did have a fondness for fall that didn’t exactly resonate with him. Not that it was something that bothered him. It was actually endearing. He liked the way she liked to find various ways to incorporate pumpkin decor in the house, be it an actual gourd or some sort of candle. How for some reason during October and November every year her wardrobe consisted of deep reds and oranges almost exclusively. And of course her little skeletons continued to pop up all over. A few days prior he found one in the pocket of his suit jacket that now sat one of the photos he had printed out from their impromptu photoshoot.

The festival itself was crowded. At least a third of the town had to be there. People of all ages. Adults. Children. Teenagers. Parents. Grandparents. Unenthused college and high school students who were roped into volunteering to work the fest. The chilly air smelled of cinnamon and popcorn and fried food. Chatter surrounded them. Laughter and crying. Small talk. It reminded him a little of the tree lighting. There was far more going on. So many craft booths. Different food purveyors from around town. She groaned when Nora caught her eye from the stand Beanies had set up.

“Emma Perkins?”

Emma attempted to nod and quickly walk away when the second dreaded face popped up from beneath the table. “Holy shit,” Zoey gasped, smacking Nora’s arm. They were both bundled up in jackets with their green Beanies visors atop their heads. Zoey’s roots were intense, the inch of brown very much clashing with the blonde. “I  _ told _ you she got knocked up by the black coffee guy!”

“There’s no way that’s her kid,” Nora sighed as she rearranged the cups around the table. There was no line despite all the people around. Maybe word that their coffee was ass flavored had gotten around. “She wouldn’t have a kid. Doesn’t she have a--”

“Okay,  _ bye,” _ she shouted over the crowd of people and scooted off in the direction of a tent that had various wood carvings in it. Not something that she would be particularly interested in, but it was far away enough from the Beanies crew that she could duck in briefly to avoid further chatter. The tent was filled with different signs with various sayings carved into them. A lot of “Live, Laugh, Love” type of things. Walnut. Aspen. Oak. Some more intricate carvings that depicted mountain ranges or birds. 

She looked over at him raising her eyebrows as if to say it was a great hiding spot. He shrugged and nodded in agreement. An unspoken language of avoiding uncomfortable situations. Oh boy, did he love that she got him. “Paul?” Jesus Christ, now what. He turned on his heel to find a head of beautiful shoulder length golden hair, a sharp scruffy jaw, and a set of very outdated glasses. Dear god. “I thought that was you.”

“Oh, um, Mr. Davidson… hey… um, hi,” he stumbled over his words in the face of his boss. Without turning around, he could feel the look on her face. The ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ dead stare. He suddenly wished he was holding Eli, so at least he would have something to do with his hands. As it was, they were just gripping at the strap for the bag over his shoulder. “Um, beautiful day, huh?”

“Mm, yes, I’d say so. Carol and I were trying to find something to really pull the mud room together, so here we are.” Beyond Mr. Davidson, there was a stall brunette speaking with the gentleman running the booth. Mr. Davidson gazed over his shoulder at her. If there was one thing he could give his boss, it was that the guy really did seem to have eyes only for his wife. The one thing he might actually have in common with the guy. The gaze finally returned in front of him, but not to Paul. “Is this your lovely wife?”

Without skipping a beat, Emma cut in. “Emma,” she introduced, sticking her hand out for Mr. Davidson to shake while propping Eli up in her other arm. “It’s nice to meet you and not just kind of drunk at a Christmas party.”

With a laugh, Mr. Davidson responded, “We have to have something to keep morale up.” Paul felt stiff. Very uncomfortable. Like he was seeing a dog walk around on its hind legs. There was no reason they should be having a conversation with his boss on his fucking day off. “And is this the little one?”

“Listen, man, I know I’m short, but that was just too far.”

Another chuckle. “Miss Emma, I don’t know how you managed to get wrangled in by Paul,” Mr. Davidson hollered, smacking Paul harder on the back than Paul had anticipated. “But little Elijah is quite handsome.”

“Yeah, he’s coming along,” she mused while looking over at Eli. Her eyes shifted to Paul. “Hey, aren’t we meeting Tom over by the pumpkins really soon?” They were not. He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to figure out his angle. The smile on her face didn’t falter, but neither did her eyes on his. “You know… the surprise… for Tim.”

His eyebrows raised. “Oh _ yeah _ .” An escape plan. She was lucky he had just enough of a clue to realize she was trying to hatch an escape plan. He looked to his boss. “I’m sorry, Mr. Davidson. It’s our… nephew’s birthday, and we’re all doing--”

“No need to explain, Paul. I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.”

“Yep, yeah, you will. Have a good weekend, Mr. Davidson. Carol,” he chuckled, waving to them as he backed out of the tent beside her. The momentum in their step was very quickly increased after they were out of Mr. Davidson’s eyeline. As soon as they were out of earshot, he leaned down toward her. “Thank you. You are the most wonderful human I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah, yeah, can you take him? My arms feel like fucking jello,” she sighed, lifting Eli up to him. He gladly pulled him into his arms. Pleased coos left the baby’s mouth as he ran damp sticky hands over Paul’s face. An action he would have been absolutely repulsed by just a few years before. “God, what a fucking weirdo.”

They made their way through the crowded festival, watching parents and their children go around the various game stands that were set up. Guiding little hands to do ring tosses. Helping throw darts at walls of balloons. He felt himself smiling as her fingers scratched lightly against his back. The image of the two of them there with their own brood, playing carnival games, made his stomach do flips. He would have Eli up on his shoulders while she held the hand of the second little one. They would move through the crowd and laugh. There would be a gigantic teddy bear that took up half the backseat of the car.

She insisted on hitting a different stand for warm drinks. For him, she ordered a mulled cider. She, on the other hand, got herself a large hot chocolate with a ton of whipped cream on top. When he looked down at her with an arched eyebrow, she took her turn to stick her tongue out at him. “I am treating myself to a nice thing. Stop judging me, you asshat,” she grumbled, shoving his shoulder. Eli laughed. “You don’t judge me, right, E?” She tickled at his belly, causing him to curl into Paul’s chest. 

Her eyes fell to the hot chocolate in her hand, and her face lit up as if she had an idea. A single finger dipped into the mass of whipped cream then inched toward the baby’s face. “Oh Em, that’s not a good idea,” he commented. As if to defy him, she looked him directly in the eye while she allowed Eli to suck the whipped cream off of her finger. “You’re creating a monster. You know that, right? You can deal with this.” But regardless of what he knew of his nieces and nephews, Eli simply kicked around excitedly, smacking his lips with the sweet taste of cream in his mouth still.

“It’s okay. He just doesn’t get it,” she continued to speak to Eli. Her eyes were soft. Happy. He loved to watch her talk to the baby. Like he was a little adult. No baby speak. Maybe a little more excited than she would say her words to other people but still no dumbing down for him. Always full of joy and laughter. “Hey, Paul?”

“Yep?”

“Do you want to go home?” she asked, still looking at Eli.

He didn’t know many questions that were more enticing than that one. “Yes, I would love that.”

Making it back through the crowd felt more difficult than getting in. Mostly because they were now hypervigilant about all the people they would very likely know. Neither one of them were great with small talk. Neither one of them really appreciated being accosted by most people. Neither one of them really had any interest in potentially running into Melissa and getting their asses handed to them. They walked quickly through the exit and back into the field where everyone had parked. Somehow she was keeping pace with him without complaining too much.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been more attracted to you than right now,” he chuckled, a little winded. He really needed to get back into the gym. His arm was feeling a little tired from carrying a very wiggly Eli around.

She let out a scoff. “You want to put that to the test, Matthews?”

“Yes, I absolutely do.”

“Once again talking about our fucking sex life in front of our son.” His heart skipped a beat at the final part of her statement.  _ Our son. _ That was who he was. Their boy. A little ball of joy and drool. “Unbelievable, Paul.”

“I think it’s going to be nice for him to know that his parents are very much in love.”

“I tolerate you on a good day.”

“That’s not what you were saying last night.” She landed a hard smack on his arm, but he grinned at Eli. “Got her, bud.”

“You’re going to fucking get it.”

“Promise?”

“Thin ice, papi,” she warned, but still reached down to pinch his butt. He jumped slightly before smirking down at her. “He’s getting a little too comfortable, E. I swear.” The only response she got was a trail of incoherent babbles and drool bubbles. “Don’t take his side. That’s not fair.”


	26. Eggnog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul host Christmas Eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really having fun and I want to address that although this is going to continue to march on in time and go through years chronologically time has lost all meaning and there aren't going to be real years attached to anything. They'll just be together forever and never die and the cats and the baby will be there too.

“I think this might be the stupidest song I’ve ever heard.” Paul stood at the island, gently placing neatly decorated gingerbread cookies onto a platter. They had agreed to host Christmas Eve that year, which had stressed him out immensely. There was so much that needed to be done before people came over. He had to have been deep cleaning for the past three weeks. Emma usually just sat on the couch with Eli as they watched him run like a madman around the house. One night while they laid in bed she pulled up a video entitled _‘COMPANY IS COMING’_. He was not nearly as amused as she was by the comparison she was making.

She was stationed by the sink, cutting granny smith apples into slices to go into a large punch bowl. Occasionally, she slipped a little sliver of apple to Eli, who was set up in his high chair beside her. He bounced up and down happily as he gummed down the apples he was given. “This is a fu… classic, Paul,” she stumbled. There had been a slip up when he began to babble out words. Without going into all the gruesome details, it was safe to say Bill was horrified and made sure to have words with both Paul and Emma about how it was important to watch their language around the baby. “Sir Paul McCartney didn’t share his genius with the world to be given shit from you, you uncultured swine.”

Turning to face her, he pointed a gingerbread man out toward her and then to Eli. “If he says ‘shit’ in front of Bill tonight, that’s on you. I had nothing to do with this,” he shot back before returning to the task at hand. “But I’m not _denying_ that he wasn’t really influential and had some good stuff that came out. I’m just saying that _Wonderful Christmastime_ is a terrible fucking song.”

This time she pointed at him. Except she was holding a knife, so he was certainly taken aback when he glanced over his shoulder at her. “If he says ‘fuck’ in front of Bill, you’re taking that one,” she told him. He rolled his eyes in response. “It’s only fair, but we’re going to try and not swear in front of goody two shoes Bill.”

“Em, come on.”

As she dropped the last apple slice into the punch bowl, she scoffed, “You know it’s true.” Shaking his head, he continued to stack gingerbread men onto the platter. “Oh, drop the freaking ‘tude, man.” She pinched his butt as she bounded over to the fridge, where she pulled out two bottles of prosecco. He didn’t look up at her. “Come on. I love Bill as much as the next guy, but he’s too nice for his own good. Sometimes he needs to be a little less uptight. Like when a baby just so happens to say ‘fuck’ in front of him.”

He knew she was right in some ways, but it still wasn’t great that Eli was swearing so early on. Grunts came from behind him. When he turned around again, Eli was bouncing up and down in his seat and pointing at the cookies Paul was dealing with. Narrowing his eyes, he looked over at her as she twisted off the cork of the first bottle, her face pinched in concentration. “Did you feed him cookies?” he questioned once she looked up at him.

She arched an eyebrow. “Maybe,” she responded while lifting her hand as the cork came loose with a sizzle. “Only if you’re not going to give me a hard time about it. If you are, I had nothing to do with it.” He just continued to stare at her with a blank stare. It was her turn to roll her eyes. She tipped the bottle of prosecco, emptying it into the bowl. Cranberries, grapes, and apples floated to the surface. Earlier in the day, she had described what she was going for as Christmas mimosas. It was coming along quite well, too, but she couldn’t deal with the silly, likely stress-induced judgment. He had turned back around to his mission of placing the cookies as neatly as possible on the long platter. She sidled up to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Hey, it’s Christmas.” He glanced down at her, attempting to keep his face stern. A grin crossed her face. “Don’t be mad.”

“Well, it’s not--” A knock came from the door. He moved to pull away from her and grab the door. His eyes cut over to her, still wearing a shit eating grin. “Emma, there’s someone at the door.”

“Yep, but you’ve got to pay the troll toll,” she mused. After Eli had gone to bed most nights, she was having him watch through _It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia_ , and for someone who had a self-proclaimed hatred of musicals, he seemed to be particularly taken by _The Nightman Cometh._ He bit down on the inside of his lower lip to keep from smiling. “Come on. It’s cold out there, man. Leaving our guests--”

He leaned in and pressed a short peck onto her lips with the intention of backing right away from her. Instead, her hand reached up around the back of his head to pull him back in for a longer kiss. She had long gotten over the way her stomach did flips and her heart hammered against her ribs when they kissed. In fact, the feeling had become a welcome friend. He grumbled into her mouth. “You’re the worst,” he muttered, eyes fluttering open.

Twisting away from her, he set off to the front door. “Oh, that’s a bunch of… hooey! You love it.” He turned around just enough for her to see his middle finger as he made his way through the foyer. Quickly, while he was facing away, she snuck a gingerbread foot to Eli, who squealed with delight. Upon the door opening, she could hear him babbling stupidly and chuckling uncomfortably. It could only be one person. The shine of silver hair in the hall light confirmed her suspicions. “Fashionably early as usual, huh, you old fart?”

“Emma, you never can be too sure of what traffic will bring,” Hidgens explained while placing his shoes neatly beside the door. A large bag hung from his arm. In it, there were several boxes wrapped in bright red and gold paper. “And I don’t think any of us should be on the interstate tonight. I have a theory--”

She held a hand up in front of her. “No end of the world b… bologna tonight,” she spat out, glancing over to Paul. He gave her a thumbs up. “Get in here, you weirdo. We’ll get some good food and booze in ya.” Hidgens shrugged his jacket off and completely disregarded the open hand Paul had to take it from him, hanging it from the banister instead. The two made their way into the kitchen. The older man took a moment to stand by here, unsure of how to initiate the encounter. “Merry Christmas, Hidgens.” Reaching forward, she pulled him into a hug, which he hesitantly returned at first before easing into the contact.

From behind them, a series of excited squeals, which vaguely sounded like ‘ha, ha, ha’, and the sound of the high chair bouncing came. Hidgens glanced over and returned the smile he was receiving from little Eli. “Good evening, young man,” he greeted, moving towards the baby with a pat on the back from Emma as he went. He held out a finger as if he were trying to shake hands with Eli, and it was grabbed enthusiastically by sticky damp fingers. “Ah yes, gingerbread. The best of all the seasonal desserts. It’s a relief to see you have fine inclinations already, Elijah.”

Paul materialized beside her. Without looking, she handed him the glass he had left out on the counter. Despite her dislike of it, she had put together an eggnog for him. It had twists to it that she could remember her mother making for the holidays when she was younger. The first time she and Jane ever got drunk was off of whatever spiced rum was in that rompope (as her mother had referred to it). He took a long sip, a solid milk mustache left behind when he lowered the glass. She hid a laugh behind her hand. “Fuck off,” he whispered with a smile as he dragged his tongue over his lower lip.

Leaning into him, she dipped her fingers underneath the t-shirt he wore beneath his sweater and ran them along the waistband of his pants. “Maybe later,” she teased as he batted her hand away. His face burned bright red. Mission accomplished. “Done having a stick up your butt?”

“Yes, but be nice to Bill. He’s just sensitive.”

“No kidding. He cried when he met _our_ baby. A baby who isn’t related to him aside from being yours.”

“Emma, he’s important to me and was there when no one else was, so just give it a rest, okay?”

She watched his face briefly flicker with a flash of sadness. That hopeless, drifting time would periodically pop back into his mind. Spending so many years with no aspirations. No goals. No real will to actually go out and live. Her hand found his, her pinky wrapping around his. “Okay,” she agreed. “But I reserve the right to tease him a least a little bit.”

“Well, yeah you and Ted are both going to be here. I think he’s been mentally preparing for the last couple weeks.”

The front door swung open without a knock this time around. “Ho, ho, ho, motherfuckers!” Ted shouted with arms raised as he stepped through the doorway. Emma and Paul glanced at each other, using whatever Wonder Twin powers they had managed to generate over the years. 

“If the baby says ‘fuck’ in front of Bill tonight, you’re going to deal with it, numbnuts,” Paul hollered out, pointing directly at Ted, who simply shrugged as he tossed his coat haphazardly onto the banister. He crossed into the kitchen, and without another word to anyone, he reached over the island to grab a cookie. “Oh, sure, go ahead. Hey, Ted, merry Christmas. Thanks for coming and giving such a warm welcome.”

He rounded the corner of the island only to jet past Paul, but not before he gave him a sharp slap on the back. “Anytime, good buddy,” he said, peering at the assortment of alcoholic beverages. “Listen, I’m just here for the gift your bartender wife keeps on giving: magical fucking mixed drinks.” Curiously, he lifted the ladle out of the rompope. His face twisted with disgust. “Is this eggnog.”

“Yep,” Emma piped up, leaning on the counter beside Ted.

“Fucking gross.”

“ _Right?_ Paul likes it, but he’s gross too then I guess.”

“Hey!” Paul whined as he took another sip of his drink. “It’s a normal thing to like!”

Ted shrugged. “Listen, bud, we don’t make the rules,” he apologized while he grabbed a glass to pour some of the Christmas mimosas Emma had been making prior to guests arriving. “I guess you’re gross now.”

Emma nudged him in an effort to have him grab her a glass as well, which he did happily. Pale red sparkling liquid filled the glass. “Yeah, sorry, papi, but you’re gross,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I figured I’d wait until after Christmas to tell you. It’s as good a time as any, though.”

Paul narrowed his eyes at them, maintaining eye contact with Ted as he took a long gulp of his drink. “I liked it better when you two didn’t get along,” he muttered. Since late in the summer, he had become resigned to the fact that Ted was, in fact, his oldest friend. Not that their friendship had always been mutual. He spent most of his years at CCRP avoiding Ted as best he could. It wasn’t worth all the headache of getting pestered all damn day. But as it turned out, the moment he stopped letting Ted bother him as much was the moment Ted stopped trying as hard to bug him. In the previous months, Ted had even come over to have a drink or two on a Friday night, hence his improved relationship with Emma. They were both quick and mean. Paul really had a consistent type of person he liked to keep around him.

“Listen, bub, I’m the reason this whole thing even happened,” Ted argued, gesturing around the whole room. Paul rolled his eyes before glancing over to the high chair, where Hidgens was engaged in a very intense conversation with the baby. Eli stared up in wonder at the old man, occasionally letting out a laugh that made Hidgens’s lips quirk up into a smile. “I’m the reason it almost happened _both_ times. Holy shit, you fucking _owe me,_ you noodle!”

His gaze moved to Emma, who shrugged, eyebrows raised. “I mean, he’s not wrong,” she concurred. “Really it was Ted who asked me for my name and number. I mean, all things considered, I probably should have gone on a date with him.”

“Wait. Really?” Ted mumbled over to her, leaning down closer to her.

Her face pinched with offense. “Oh, god no,” she groaned before downing a gulp of her own drink. “I had my eye on the big doofus over there for, like, months before you forced his hand. You were _never_ an option there.”

“That hurts, Emma,” he responded, hand flying up over his heart. “I know you’re married to my best friend--” another bit Ted was insistent on; that he and Paul were best friends, which Paul was not so convinced of, “--and all, but that wounded me.” The front door creaked open. “Oh thank god, Charlotte! We really need to let everyone know.” He pushed between Paul and Emma and waltzed over to the door. “Did you know Paul is gross?”

They stood there for a moment. Across from one another. Leaning back against their respective countertops. Staring right at each other. Smiles lingering on their faces. It was their weird dysfunctional friend family (save for Tom and Tim, who were actually technically her family and would eventually show up) gathered all together to celebrate the holiday in their home. Home. The lingering smile turned into a beaming grin up at him. “You know what? It doesn’t even sound like he’s saying ‘fuck’. It’s just like ‘fuh, fuh’, which isn’t anything. He makes all sorts of noises all day,” she concluded as she took a step toward him. His smile morphed into a smirk. “So merry fucking Christmas, Matthews.”

Her glass raised forward toward him. He gently knocked his own cup against it. “Merry fucking Christmas,” he repeated with a chuckle. He took another sip of the cream colored liquid in his glass. “This really is delicious. I’ll be gross all day long if it means I get to have this at Christmas.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, grabbing his glass and taking a sip herself. “It’s pretty good. I just like to give you a hard time.”

His mouth opened as if he were going to snap back a response at her. Instead, it just hung there in a slack jaw smile. “Unbelievable,” he chuckled, shaking his head and grabbing his glass back from her. “You’re un-fucking-believable.”

“And yet you still love me,” she hummed while taking another step to him, standing chest to chest with him. Well, as chest to chest as she could get with him. The grin remained on his lips as his thumb wiped at the corner of her lips to clean off excess rompope. A gentle blase touch. But a touch that sent a little jolt of excitement down her spine. “I’m pretty lucky you’re a good sport.”

“Damn straight you are,” he laughed lightly. “But it’s pretty easy. I’ve dealt with Ted and Bill all these years and haven’t killed them yet, and I like you a little bit more than I like them.” His brows raised, sending a laugh through her.

He wore that dumb red sweater that he was positive was not nearly as ugly as it really was. The one that she really liked wearing herself. Maybe it really wasn’t that ugly. Maybe she just liked it more when he was wearing it, though. She looked up at his face. He was getting older. A few more lines had appeared on his face from when they first met. A number of white hairs had shown up sparsely at his temples in his dusty brown hair. But he didn’t look as tired as he used to, even if he really wasn’t getting that much solid sleep as they took turns getting up with Eli. He glowed a little bit. A shining happiness that had grown in him over the years. It was contagious. “I love you, papi.”

He beamed down at her. “Love you, too,” he replied, bending down to give her a quick kiss. Before he pulled away, he whispered, “I really like that, um, you call me that.”

She patted the side of his face. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” she remarked. “You think I don’t know you, nerd? I _know_ you liked that musical episode of _Always Sunny,_ and I’m going to tell everyone about it.”

“Good, go ahead,” he shot back. “I’ll tell them you like eggnog. Then we’ll be even.”

“Touche.”

“And so the student becomes the master.”

“Fat chance. I’ll always win.”

“It’s Christmas, and you couldn’t just let me have this one?”

“Nope.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“...no, I don’t”

Hidgens cleared his throat to garner their attention. Both of them whipped their heads in his direction. “I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid young Elijah keeps trying to say ‘fuck’ and I’m not sure how to proceed,” he explained, looking back and forth between them and the baby. “I can’t be sure because he is, after all, a baby, but if my memory serves me correctly, it would not be too far off base to assume he’s heard it from one of you.”

Emma shook her head before Paul could get a response in. “Nope, it was one-hundred percent Ted who taught him that,” she informed him. “We had nothing to do with that.” Paul glanced down at her, thoroughly amused with her intent on seeing Ted get the blame for something that was clearly their doing. He ran a hand up and down her back for a moment before resting between her shoulder blades. All of the Christmas or Hanukkah parties he could remember as a kid felt loud and cold. Less like what he imagined from all the movies he had seen. The holidays were supposed to be full of fun and family and warmth, yet all he had were memories of being stuffed into a suit that was too big for him and being passed around between middle aged ladies who wore too much perfume. As he watched Hidgens and Emma go back and forth about early childhood language development, he couldn’t help but smile as they both grew more and more animated the longer the discussion went. Eli had caught his glance and raised one hand that clumsily waved at him. A gesture he immediately returned, drawing a giggle from the little one. Out in the foyer, Ted and Charlotte were talking with Melissa, who had just walked in the door with her girlfriend--formally Eleanor but referred to as Ellie by Melissa. Ted flipped the middle finger at her, and in response, she stuck her tongue out and shot both middle fingers into the air at him. Charlotte shook her head but was clearly trying to hold back a laugh. Melissa’s girlfriend smiled, which Paul was certain had to be the first time he had seen her do that.

His attention turned back to Emma and Hidgens who were still deep in discussion, though it had changed over to the idea that some of the children’s shows on TV were definitely putting off some form of mind control. He sighed. Not a heavy sigh. Not a tired sigh. No, it was different. He was happy. This was the holiday he had always dreamed of. All the family together. People play fighting or even briefly real fighting. But it was joy filled. There was laughter and love. It was warm. The whole thing felt like a childhood dream was coming true. Even when she reached behind him as though she was going to sling an arm around his waist but actually went down to squeeze his butt.

That wasn’t a childhood dream honestly, but he sure wasn’t complaining about it.


	27. Mugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma figures out a creative gift for Paul's birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I don't know why this one gave me so much trouble, but for whatever reason, I just had a tough time writing it?? It just wouldn't come out.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy some more wholesome domestic fluff.

Paul wasn’t one to celebrate his birthday in any sort of big way. For the longest time, the only way he really celebrated it was when Charlotte would get a small cake for everyone in the office to share. He always tried to take the smallest possible piece because he didn’t care for cake all that much. Cookies were more his speed, but that wasn’t something that Charlotte or, god forbid, Bill needed to know. The thought of coming into an enormous platter of cookies, while enticing in a way, sounded like a nightmare waiting to happen. At the very least, it would be a nightmare for his stomach after he mindlessly ate them all in one day.

He was thankful to be working from home on his birthday this year. Emma usually did something lowkey. Breakfast. A gift or two. Always something small that usually made him laugh. Or something that was uncharacteristically adorable and sentimental. Those would normally make her flush red and grumble about how he shouldn’t get used to it. Even though the sentimentality always seemed to find its way to the surface, despite her most valiant efforts to hide it. Then they would sit and watch bad movies until they ended up passing out on the couch. Although this year would likely be different, as it was the first year they had a baby in the mix.

Light was pouring in through the windows in their bedroom, and he expected to hear the buzzing of his alarm going in the background, waking him up. This was not the case. Rather than a jarring honk of his phone, there was a weight on his chest and gentle pats being placed on his cheeks. He squinted one eye open, smiling at the sight before him. “Hi, buddy,” he chuckled, squeezing his eyes shut. His hands reached up and rested on either side of Eli. He could feel the belly laughs coming from him.

“Happy birthday to the best nerd I know!” she chirped from beside him, patting his forehead ever so gently. He slid one eye open again, still getting used to the light, so he could glance over at her. Before he could even ask what time it is, she cut in. “I may or may not have told Melissa you were kind of sick, so you may or may not have to work today.”

“Pa, pa, pa.” Soft little musings left Eli’s mouth. It was something that began to happen a lot over the weeks prior. Mostly one syllable sounds that didn’t seem to have much meaning. Except for when they found him consistently using ‘ma’ in sequence when she would walk into the room. Paul could have sworn his heart squeezed in his chest with this bittersweet pride. He had been there in the world with them for nearly a year, but it felt like yesterday that he arrived.

Squeezing his eyes shut tightly before opening them again, he grunted and stretched out his legs under the blankets. “I swear to god, if he starts calling me Paul… I’m going to be a little upset,” he muttered. The statement started off strong, but he just stared at the face that was leaning in towards his. An open-mouthed kiss landed on his chin. Even though there was saliva dripping along his jaw, he couldn’t help but grin. “Thanks, E,” he chuckled, turning his head to look at her again. “Pretty good birthday wake up.”

“What can I say? I’m nailing it.” She turned to grab a small gift. Maybe the size of a box that would contain a coffee mug. That was a pretty standard gift she liked to pull out for birthdays. The year prior he received the mug that sat on his desk downstairs, reading  _ ‘I hope your day is as nice as your ass’.  _ Previous mugs had been raunchier. Birthdays. Christmases. Anniversaries. They all sat in the back of the cupboard but still made him laugh. Lifting the baby up slightly, he situated himself to sit up against the headboard. He took the gift from her. Whatever it was, it was heavy. Weightier than any mug he could imagine. She had a light smile lingering on her lips as she jutted her chin out toward the present. “Open it.”

The paper was heavy duty. Good quality. She had been insistent on spending a little more money for good quality paper. Because if they were going to have to give gifts, they were going to be the snazziest goddamn gifts there. That was her mentality at least. It didn’t tear easily, adding a second longer of the suspense of what could be within. The contents were not a mug after all. Instead, a pile of eight small tiles. He furrowed his brows as he picked up the top tile, examining it. The tile itself was white. A small handprint was printed on it and the rest of them. Different colors. Red. Blue. Green. He looked to her for an explanation.

Her smile turned into a smirk as she leaned in and rustled the dark curls that were starting to really grow out on Eli’s head. “We were getting tired of Daddy complaining about not knowing what happened to the fu... coasters,” she cooed, running her fingers through Eli’s hair. “So we did some crafts, right, buddy?” She turned her attention back to Paul. “And y’know, I thought you might like these ones better, but I’ve got to tell you--” swiftly, she moved her hands to clamp down over Eli’s ears, “--that fucking ink was a bitch and a half to get off of baby hands. I mean, holy shit. You better fucking like them.”

Hands moved off of the baby’s ears, and Paul chuckled, looking down at the perfect little handprint on the square of tile. “I love it,” he assured her, eyes moving to meet hers. 

“Oh!” Her brows shot up as she reached around to the floor beneath the bed. From the floor, she produced a small sheet of paper. “There’s a card, too… but I just kind of threw it together. Junior over there is responsible for the art. Gave him some paint and he just went f...reaking hog wild.” She grinned, holding her hands out as if she were going to receive some sort of reward. “Come on, that one was good.”

He nodded, laughing. “I’ll give you that one,” he agreed. The piece of paper was solid quality. Heavyweight. The front was completely covered in different colors. From corner to corner. Messy lines of purple and yellow. Every color in the rainbow. He was pretty sure he could make out little streaks that were about baby finger sized in width. Over the chaotic sunset of color, she had neatly printed a note in white pen. “Should I wait to read this or--”

“You can, um, go ahead,” she stated while scooting herself closer to him on the bed. He opened his mouth as if he were going to read it out loud, but she placed her hand over his mouth. “You don’t have to do that.” 

Glancing over at her, he could tell she was biting at the inside of her cheek. He arched a brow. “It’s that kind of card, huh?” he teased, nudging her with his shoulder. All she gave as a response was a half hearted scoff. His thumb ran over the textured corner of the paper. Paint had dried in clumps and layers, popping off of the page. It was really a wonder how she was able to write so neatly over it. The words popped out in white over the muddy colors. He couldn’t exactly say it necessarily looked like a toddler made. But he also couldn’t say that it didn’t look like some of the art he had ever seen at a museum, which was worth millions of dollars. 

As his eyes peered over her words, he realized he was living a specific cliche in that moment: he didn’t care how much the shitty art in a museum might have been worth because he wouldn’t trade the piece of paper in his hand for a million bucks. In her surprisingly tidy print, she had written out what he recognized as being part of a stanza from a poem:

_ “Weep not, child, _

_ Weep not, my darling, _

_ With these kisses let me remove your tears, _

_ The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious” _

Beneath that was a line that wasn’t poetry, but might as well have been.

_ “Happy birthday to the best papi around! We love you. _

_ xoxo, Em and Eli” _

“Walt Whitman, right?” he whispered, running his thumb over the message again. 

“Yeah, I knew you’d get it, nerd. I was just googling things and--” 

“Emma, it’s okay to just be nice,” he told her. His gaze moved over to her. She was staring at Eli, eyes unmoving. Trying to specifically not make eye contact with him. Typical sober Emma being sweet moves. “Okay, you just googled something and this is what came up, so you went with it. That’s fine, too.”

The nail on her thumb dug into the side of her index finger. “I was looking up sh… stuff to put on there. I don’t know. Some kind of grand gesture, I guess. This poem came up, and I saw you reading one of Agnes’s books and remembered Walt Whitman having written it.” She wasn’t far off base. He was making his way through  _ Leaves of Grass _ at night before bed. Sometimes he forgot that she noticed things, too. Just like he did. Small things. Seemingly meaningless things. “It said something online about the dad in it being all reassuring and easing fears and all that jazz.” Finally, her eyes moved up from the bed, and she shrugged. “I don’t know. It made me think of you.”

Eli held her hand in both of his. Fingers grasped at the sides of her palm. Drool slid down his chin from the open mouthed smile he wore almost constantly. He was so happy. She always went on about how thankful she was that he had the temperament he did because she had been told time and time again how much of a terror she had been as a child. Incessantly almost. Like she was a punishment or a bad omen. On the contrary, Paul couldn’t remember being told much about how he was as a baby. There were times he wondered if his mother and father even remembered. Half of the time when he was a kid he felt like they had already forgotten about him until his father would get angry with him. Then he desperately wished their memory of him would fade again.

Breaking the chain. That was what they set out to do. One of Eli’s hands reached out to Paul. He fell forward and grabbed Paul’s nose in his clammy fist. Loud laughs erupted from deep in his belly. He sent himself into hysterics as Paul’s face squished up to look at him. God, he was always laughing. Always smiling. Even when he did send himself into a tizzy, it never took too long for him to turn around to the grinning again. They were doing a pretty good job so far in that chain breaking.

Paul looked over at Emma, his nose still pinched in Eli’s fist. “I love it, Em,” he said, his voice a little muffled and nasally. “Thank you.”

The distant look on her face faded in that moment, replaced by raised brows and a new brightness. “Oh, also!” she gasped, reaching over the side of the bed once again. When she popped back up, he rolled his eyes and began to laugh. In her hands was a mug with boldface font across the front. “It wouldn’t be a birthday without a mug.”

He took it from her, squinting over Eli’s hand on his nose and the other one reaching for his, now, closed right eye. “Oh my god, Emma,” he groaned upon absorbing the words, chuckles lingering in his voice. The mug turned font-side out to face Eli. “This is a crock of shit, Eli. That’s the only way to describe it. Bullshit.” She threw her head back with laughter. His nose was finally freed from the baby death grip, and, now, his cheeks were being quietly patted with soft hands. “Eli, don’t you listen to her. She likes me even if she likes to pretend she doesn’t.”

The mug had a single line printed on it.

_ ‘You were supposed to be a one night stand.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem referenced in here is 'On the Beach Alone At Night' by Walt Whitman, which I highly suggest giving a gander. It's a beautiful poem. Also read Leaves of Grass. Even if you've already read it, read it again. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.


	28. Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma have an encounter in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So hear me out! The beginning of this one is a little stressful, but! It gets better and ends happy!

Paul couldn’t believe the overwhelming blackness that shrouded him. It was darker than the bedroom normally was when he woke up in the middle of the night. Even moonless nights didn’t feel like he was swallowed by a black hole. There was no trace of light. No sound either, he noticed. Except maybe a distant water drip. Although, he wasn’t entirely sure it was so distant. It felt like it was all around him. Dark and damp. Suffocating. The air was thick and smelled a little like something was burning. Nothing he recognized. Not like a fire in a fireplace or like toast left too long in the toaster. No, it smelled bad. Like flames that had come and gone. A little sulfuric maybe. He felt like he could throw up.

Had he slept walk into a pit somewhere? He definitely went to sleep in his own bed. In fact, he couldn’t remember even turning out the light. The last thing he remembered was Emma nuzzling into his side, muttering something about how he was a nerd for reading so many books. Then his eyes fell back onto his book. A poem about a poet wondering how his story would be told. How he wondered if he even really knew his real life. His grandmother had loved  _ Leaves of Grass _ , so he was really making the effort to make his way through the entire book. Poetry was also perfect for falling asleep. Just creative enough to be interesting. Just boring enough to send him directly into dream land. 

He must have still been asleep. Propping himself up on his elbows, he looked about the dark. There was nothing. He couldn’t even see his hands when he looked down to them. Why was he wet? His hands reached around him. A cold layer of water flooded wherever he was. Just enough to drench his back and nothing else. Though, perhaps it wasn’t water. It felt thick. Like slime. Against his better judgment, he brought his fingers up to his face. Whatever he was laying in smelled like death. 

Somewhere in the distance there was a click and a buzz, like a spot light turning on. Or maybe nearby. Everything around him seemed to echo like it was right next to him and far away all at once. It made his head spin. He tossed his head to the side, where he thought the noise came from. A small but bright white light in the darkness. Emma. She laid out in the dark goo on the floor. Hair splayed out beneath her. Facing away from him. Wearing his t-shirt that she had gone to bed in. He pulled himself toward her, but no matter how far he crawled in her direction, she seemed to get farther away.  _ “Alright, nerd, I’m going to bed. You do that nerd thing I guess.” _ He was pretty sure that was what she had said before buried her face into his side, lips pressing a quiet kiss against the fabric of the shirt he wore. His mouth opened to call her name. No sound came out. He tried to scream. Nothing.

What was happening?

Clambering to his feet, he lurched toward her again. This time, her form disappeared into the black. Then he was alone again. Alone in the thick shadows. He wrung his hands in front of him. The cool metal of his wedding band was a comfort against his palms. He walked aimlessly through the black. Looking for something. Anything. His feet splashed against the cool wet beneath him. Almost like walking quickly down a rain drenched sidewalk. Not at all how he would have expected the material he felt before to sound. In fact, he was completely dry. Back. Hair. Feet. Everything like he had just rolled out of bed to go to the bathroom.

Another light crashed to life behind him.

He spun around. Once again, she wasn’t facing him. She was in her old Beanies uniform. Perhaps she was behind the counter. He watched her half-heartedly wipe down the counter before leaning forward onto it. Just the back of the counter and her in the dark. There was a thumbs up, and he swore he heard her laugh.  _ “I see you around here all the time, don’t I? What’s your name?” _ A beat of silence.  _ “Hi, Paul. I’m Emma.” _ A snap of thunder. The ring of the bell on the front door of the coffee shop. She and the counter began to inch away from him. His feet took off in her direction, desperate for something familiar. Something he knew. But she disappeared again.

The air in his lungs felt thin. Like he was hyperventilating. Like a panic attack was taking over. He continued to run, hoping that he would find her in the darkness and be able to wake up. His chest burned as though he were swallowing pool water. Like chlorine was filling up his chest, singeing his throat the whole way down. He ran for as long as he could in the direction she disappeared into, but there was nothing but cold black wet.

When a third clang came from beside him, he felt his heart race in his chest.

She was there once again. In her old winter jacket and an oversized beanie. She was driving, but all he could see was the seat she was in and the steering wheel around her. Every now and then she would turn her head slightly for a second, usually rolling her eyes. There was a smirk or two that graced her lips. Quietly somewhere above him there was a jingle playing. It sounded like something out of a children’s show, but one of those shows that had a slightly sinister undertone. His face squished up, thinking about how shitty the song was.  _ “I know you don’t like it. Mhm.” _ Her voice again. She was nodding, hands still on the wheel. He could see her shoulders sag like she had let out a heavy sigh.  _ “Paul, I don’t care.” _

Once again, he stumbled toward her. He knew better than to expect anything different than the previous times, but he was afraid. She would have known what to do. He wished she was there with him. The light flickered off, and he was alone again. Anxiety crawled onto him. He almost swore it was whatever the thickening liquid below him. It crept onto him from the soles of his feet. Up both his legs. Curling over his spine. Wrapping around his neck. Slithering his way into his mouth like a demented snake. He longed for her hand wrapping around his, willing the suffocation off of him. It felt like he was being consumed entirely by fear. Like it was eating him away from the inside out. Trying to control him. He fell to his knees.

A small gasp came behind him. All at once, he felt the despair fall back into the water. It landed with a sickening splash. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a little girl. Skinny. A little too skinny as she came into his full view. Two pigtail braids. Overalls and a yellow sweater. Backwards baseball cap. She looked exhausted. “Webby says you won,” she whispered as she took a step closer to him. Her fingers touched his face lightly.

“I’m sorry?” His voice had come back. He looked up at her and felt like he knew her from somewhere. Deep in the back of his mind maybe. It was the first time since he woke up that he felt calm. How long had he even been awake? It felt like ages. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

A smile twinged on her lips. “Papi,” she whispered. His brow furrowed. He did not know this girl. She wasn’t some background character in the story of his life. Why was she calling him that? “Webby says she’s safe. And you too. And…” She looked him in the eye, tilting her head to the side. “Webby says you see too but don’t want to… don’t have to. Not this time.” Her eyes drifted to the floor between them, like she was thinking about what she was going to say next. There was a smudge of dirt on her forehead. Looking at her up close, it looked like her clothes hadn’t been washed in weeks. Dirty and dingy. “Two. Rubies. No dogs… needle and thread.”

“I… what?” he mumbled, still watching her. She bent down and grabbed one of his hands. Her skin was so warm against him. It felt like she knew him. Maybe he didn’t know her. Maybe it was just him comprehending that she knew… something. At the very least, it was comfortable. Safe, even. “What does that mean?”

Warm fingers squeeze his. “Webby says this is the right way,” she explained. Although, he had to say that didn’t explain anything at all, but he was oddly satisfied with the answer. “No black and white this time.” Black and white? This small skinny dirt-covered girl was cryptic as fuck. But it was way better than fumbling around in the dark by himself. He’d take her company over any of that shit any day of the week. “You are Good Paul.”

His eyes sprang open, and it was dark again. There was a little moonlight filtering through their open bedroom window. He was still sitting up against the headboard with his glasses on. Beside him, Emma sat up with her hand on the same cheek the little girl had been touching. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked, voice cracking with sleep. All he could do was stare at her. There was no response on his lips yet. He reached up and grabbed her wrist. Just wanting to make sure he could. Making sure she was there. “I just turned off the light and you started freaking the fuck out.”

“I, uh… sorry,” he replied. The little girl was still fresh in his mind. A burned image in his head. Her words lingered, bouncing around his skull. It was just a strange dream though. Despite how real it felt. How damp and bleak the space he had been stuck in was. Frightening. So fucking dark. Sad. “Weird dream. That’s all.”

She patted his cheek before moving to pull his glasses off of his face. His eyes were getting used to the dim light of the moon in the room. The shape of her body stretching over him to place his glasses on his bedside table. The pile of clothes that were laying on the floor in front of her dresser. The framed photo on top of her dresser. One of their outings with friends wherein they hiked one of the more challenging trails in town. He had barely made it up the mountain. She, on the other hand, was completely fine and fully willing to give him a hard time. Melissa took a picture of them. He was red faced but beaming beneath his sunglasses, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. She looked like she had been mid-laugh and was leaning into him with both arms wrapped around his middle, hair piled on top of her head in a bun.

It was dark, but things were fine. They were good.

But he couldn’t get the images that he didn’t recognize out of his head. Her voice lingering in the far corners of the deep darkness. Her voice saying his name in places that didn’t quite fit in his memory. Moments that didn’t exist, but ones that he couldn’t quite shake. He knew they hadn’t happened. So why did it feel like he could see himself on the other side of them. In his suit at Beanies. Looking displeased when a customer interrupted their interaction. Walking out into the warm February air to be accosted by a rude woman working with a charity. Sitting beside her in the car, listening to a toy jingle for the millionth time that season. Early morning. Laughing when she went on a rant about Cabbage Patch Kids. Mortified when he told her nephew that they were “intimate”.

He felt himself being tugged down to lay beside her. It was easy to fall into the spot next to her. Second nature at that point. Natural. The dreams never made sense. Even the ones where Jane would come to visit. They weren’t meant to be understood he was pretty sure. Just dreams. Nonsense his brain played behind his eyes while he slept. Yet there he was wondering how nonsensical they were. Considering Jane’s mentions of other times. “Hey,” she whispered. They faced each other on their sides. He could see her blink sleepily. “What’s up?”

“You ever wonder about what could have happened?” If he hadn’t finished his weekly reports at work and left uncomfortably after Bill asked him to see  _ Mamma Mia! _ with him and Alice. Arriving at the coffee shop perfectly dry before the rain began to fall to the ground. Leaving as the storm was on its way. If she had given him her number on the coffee cozy. Meeting up for a few dates. Casual at first. Until she invited him to a family Thanksgiving with her brother-in-law and nephew. Then it wouldn’t feel so casual despite what she tried to say. “If things… I don’t know, were different.”

She leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose. If he had seen her do that a few years earlier, he would have been shocked at the unprecedented tenderness in her actions. But she knew him. Knew that sometimes brash avoidance of feelings wasn’t necessary. That sometimes she needed to let the sensitivity be known. Her hand rested on his cheek again. “Sometimes, yeah,” she responded. It wasn’t spoken between the two, but they knew that the dreams came to both of them. Jane. Terror. The little girl. Neither one of them was alone in the images that came at night. “But I kind of like how things are going here. I think we kind of threaded the needle on this one.”

His heart raced in his chest. “What?” was all he uttered.

“Come on, Paul,” she chuckled, inching towards him. “You know. Like, when you thread the needle. You line all the shit up and get it just right. I know you--”

He pressed his lips up against hers as she continued to give him shit through the kiss. The thought of his life going any other way felt impossible. This was the only place he wanted to be. It was happy and felt right. “I love you,” he whispered when he finally pulled away from her. They sat there for just a moment. Breaths intermingled between them. Taking in the silence that wrapped around them. She gave no verbal response but pulled him back to her, finding his lips in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read a post on tumblr the other day where the OP had a theory that Paul could also see into the black and white like Lex and Hannah (or something to that effect) but tried his best to not. Then I couldn't get the idea of the black and white kind of being like the upside down in Stranger Things AND LITERALLY COULDN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT PAUL AND HANNAH MEETING IN THE BLACK AND WHITE. Which is where I was trying to imply Paul was.
> 
> I don't remember who the poster of that theory was, so I'm really sorry for that. If I find it again, I'll share who the poster was. Or if that brilliant human is here please let me know.
> 
> Anyway I didn't want to write something totally different and have it be all dark and sadness, so this is what we've got.


	29. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma share a little early Sunday morning chat in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The format of this one is a little different. I just wanted to focus a lot on their dialogue because I love writing them just talking together.
> 
> And because I haven't said it in a hot second, I hope you all are staying well and safe <3

The sun was already brightly shining through the thin drapes on their windows. A breeze gently blew through the screen. Birds sang loudly in the trees. Leaves rustled loudly against their branches. It had to still be early on in the morning, Paul figured. He had opened one sleepy eye to peek at the tiny screen on his nightstand. Eli was sprawled out on his back, limbs splayed in every direction. Fast asleep in the early morning sun. His eye slid shut again as he relaxed against his pillow once again.

He had never been someone to live for the weekend. Saturday and Sunday were just days for him to either do chores he couldn’t do during the week (i.e. mopping the floors or steaming the carpet in the old house) or to sit around and do nothing. Which was nice in and of itself. He caught up on a lot of reading that way, but it just didn’t seem all that necessary. At some point during the previous few years, he couldn’t wait for five o’clock on a Friday night. Coming home for the weekend even when it was just the two of them felt like a relief. Like he was actually taking a break from his day job. Like he was getting to live a real life, finally.

Sundays were usually the worst day of the week. Sunday meant it was the last day before having to return back to reality. A dismal Monday morning flavored reality. He felt her arm wrap around him from behind. Her face buried into his back. His eyes remained closed, but he smiled. “Hey,” he muttered. The only response she gave was a grumble into his back. The grin broadened across his face. “Happy Mother’s Day.”

“Mhm,” she hummed against his skin, pulling herself flush against him. “Thanks. Good job knocking me up, big guy.” She patted his stomach. “Why are you up so fucking early?”

“I don’t know. Circadian rhythm?”

“What the fuck kind of nerd talk is that?”

“It’s the natural internal clock you have that can wake you up even when you haven’t… you didn’t actually want to know the answer did you?”

“You know a lot of shit, so if I’m ever looking for a trivia buddy, I know that one snores next to me every night. You’re very smart and I love you, but Paul, I don’t care.” He snorted. “What?”

“You love me. Nerd.” Without removing herself from his back, she gave him a solid smack on the chest for using her own burns against her. “Don’t be mad because the tables have turned, you dumb nerd.”

“It’s Mother’s Day. Aren’t you supposed to fucking be nice to me?” she groaned, wrapping her arm tighter around him. “Doesn’t it have the same rules as like… I don’t know. Fucking… Valentine’s Day?”

“So you’re telling me I should ignore you the rest of the year, but only if I wait on you hand and foot on Mother’s Day and Valentine’s Day?”

“Isn’t that what most husbands do? Are you not on that mailing list, Paul?”

“No, I guess not. Same with the whole idea that people hate their partners. Why even be with someone if they’re that much of a fucking burden? I don’t get it.”

“Well, dear, not everyone waits until they’re well into their thirties to stumble upon greatness. You just lucked out.”

“What can I say? You’re just the apple of my eye, honey.”

“Oh god, please stop. I don’t fucking care if you ignore me all year round. Just never do whatever the fuck  _ that _ was ever again.”

“You started it. Am I not allowed to be sarcastic too?”

“No, Paul, that’s like my whole fucking thing. Let me have this.”

“To be fair, I let you have a whole lot.” He felt her smile against his back. “Yeah, keep it up with the smug fucking grin. You know what you do.” Her nails dragged across his chest, trailing from his collar to just above his navel. “See, then you go and do this. You know  _ exactly _ what you do.”

“You’ve never complained before.”

“And I’m not complaining now. I’m just stating facts.” His breath hitched in his throat when her index finger crept along the waistband of his pajama pants. “Now, that’s just not fair.”

She shifted slightly behind him, her breath suddenly hot on his neck. Lips brushing against his ear. “I had a really good dream last night.” Her words floated across his skin. A shiver ran down his back.

“Yeah? Was it the one where you kicked Nora in the gut and broke Zoey’s nose?”

“No, but that one was pretty fucking good, too.”

“Was it the one where we almost made out after a Halloween party in 2003?”

“No, but you were an idiot. Glad to see you’ve been consistent all this time.”

“You literally just said I was very smart. What’s the real story, Perkins?”

Her fingers dipped just below the waistband of his pajama bottoms and ran lightly over his hip. “You can be smart and still be an idiot. You do it every goddamn day.” She pressed a soft kiss on his neck behind his ear. “You’re never going to guess what the dream was about. Bet you any money.”

“I guess I won’t even try then. Enlighten me, Em.”

Once again, she shifted. Her hand moved from his chest again, tracing imaginary circles on his skin. She rested her head on top of his, pressing their cheeks together. His eye slid open again to get a peripheral glance at the profile of her face. “We were here in our house, but it was different. Like that place we stayed at in Vermont. Remember?” He hummed in response. His hand wandered up to hers, holding it lightly. Her thumb brushed across his knuckles. “So bright and open. The kids were older. Teenagers.”

“Kids?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” He barked out a laugh and could feel a smile burst across her face. “Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely fucking interrupted, the kids were older. Eli was so tall. At least as tall as you.” Her other hand raked through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. “We had a girl. She was also so fucking tall.” A beat of silence fell between them as a deep longing sigh left her. “She looked just like you. Crazy eyes and all.”

“Does that mean you’d call her crazy eyes, too? We could split the teasing between us.”

“Not a chance, Buscemi.”

“I hate that, you know.”

“I do, but you let me have a whole lot so we’re just going to roll with it.” A kiss laid against his temple. “We were both older too. Your hair was so white right at your temples. Fucking old man.” He snorted, lifting her hand up to press a kiss on her palm. “It’s okay I had a nice couple streaks going too. We’re going to be fucking old one day.”

“Good to know you’re finally coming to grips with the fact that you are, in fact, older than me, you cougar.”

“You’re the one who’s into older women.”

“Got me there, I guess.”

A trail of feather light kisses were placed down the side of his face and onto his jaw. “You were getting old and still looked at me like you couldn’t get enough.” He smiled, finally turning his head to look up at her. She stared back. Hair toppled over her shoulder and onto the pillows beneath them. Still thick and dark. The grin mirrored back at him. The same one he remembered making his heart flutter back in that dinky coffee shop. “And fuck if I didn’t feel the same way. I wasn’t sick of you even a little bit.”

“Oh thank god. I’m glad there’s a little security in this relationship. What a relief.”

She just gazed down at him. Her eyes were soft, scanning over his face. Taking him in. Reminding him a lot of the quiet moments he had in that same position. Over her. In their bed. Trying to take a mental snapshot of that moment. “Jane was there.” The words came out barely above a whisper. “But not really there. I don’t know. I have dreams with her in them, but like… a Jane I didn’t know. I know that sounds crazy--”

“Doesn’t sound crazy to me.”

With a light chuckle, she leaned her head back, looking up at the ceiling for a second. “She told me that she thinks you’re good. That she’s pretty sure we’re fucking soulmates, but fuck that shit, right?” He hummed again in response. “She… then she left.” Her eyes fell to the mattress right past his head. Almost as if she felt like she said too much. Like she hadn’t wanted him to know that part. “It was stupid, but it was really nice to see her.”

“I bet it was.”

The grin on her lips had faded slightly, morphing into a faint smile that was distant and a little melancholic. Nostalgia rising in her. “It was.” Her eyes moved to his again. Pulling her hand from his, she rested the hand against his cheek, thumb rubbing softly against his cheekbone. “I really do fucking love you, Paul. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I do, Em. It’s nice to get reminders, though. I won’t complain.”

She leaned down and kissed his lips. A gentle kiss. Barely there. When she pulled back, a smirk had grown on her face. A more familiar expression for her. “We also did that thing.” He arched an eyebrow at her. Her head dipped down again, so she could press not as light kisses against his neck. Teeth nipped softly at his skin. He swallowed hard. “The thing we did on your birthday.”

“Oh yeah? Was it good because of the kids, Jane, or that… thing?”

“A little of everything.” She tugged his shoulder, so he fell onto his back. “Got me thinking about today, though.” She was so light on top of him after crawling over him. Her legs splayed out over his hips. One of his t-shirts draped over the contact between them. He reached out to place his hands on her waist. She returned the sentiment, resting her hands on his forearms. “And since you have to do what I want today, I think I’d like to start out my Mother’s Day with a little fun.”

God, he couldn’t believe his life. An absolute angel was sitting on top of him. Wanting to bang him early on a Sunday morning. A foul-mouthed ethereal being. She had fucking married him for whatever reason. He couldn’t even fathom how that happened. He was just a gigantic schoolboy in his thirties with a crush on a barista. A barista who no longer made coffee for a living. An ex-barista who he woke up next to every morning. Who made him smile everyday. Who was the mother of his goddamn child. Children someday maybe. His thumbs slipped underneath the t-shirt and brushed against the curve of her hip bones. He thought about the little girl from the dreams. Head of curls. Big blue eyes. Tiny smiles. Eli as a big brother.

Her hands pinning his wrists down on either side of his head pulled him right out of his thoughts. It was his turn to smirk up at her. “This wasn’t exactly the thing we did on my birthday, Emma.” His tone was teasing. She bit down on the inside of her lip to keep from fully smiling down at him. “Seems just a little different.”

“Well, maybe just a little.” Her face hovered just above his, breath brushing against his face. He moved to kiss her, but she backed away, a mischievous grin gracing her features. “Uh uh, not so fast, papi. I thought you would have known better than to try that shit yet.” She gripped his wrists tighter. “I said I wanted to start my day with a little fun, so god dammit, I’m going to have some fucking fun with you.”

His breath felt labored in his chest. He could tell his face must have been flushed a heavy pink. “Then I’m all fucking yours.” Once again, she was kissing and nipping down his neck, arms still outstretched holding his arms down. An involuntary groan escaped from his throat as she slowly ground her hips against his.

“Of course you are.” Her head popped back up to make eye contact once again with him, lips hovering just above his. “‘Til death do us part. You’re fucking stuck with me now.”

“Emma, there’s nowhere else I’d rather fucking be.”

Sundays were usually the worst day of the week, but he supposed there were exceptions to every rule. 


	30. Hereditary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hereditary: (adjective) (of a characteristic or disease) determined by genetic factors and therefore able to be passed on from parents to their offspring or descendants
> 
> Paul and Eli have some very interesting things in common

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's a little thing. Happy Sunday!

A wailing cry sounded through the otherwise silent night air. Both Paul and Emma came to wakefulness quickly and filled with anxiety. In the dark, they looked at each other in their half asleep stupors. As if it could have been one of them who had made the high pitched shriek. Once the realization came that it was neither of them, she grumbled something to herself and threw her feet over the side of the bed. He reached out and grabbed her elbow. “It’s fine. I’ll go,” he whispered as he dropped his hand back down onto the bed. Another cry came. This one was more desperate than the first. “Get some sleep.” He leaned in to kiss the side of her head while she laid back down. She mumbled something else incoherent in response.

He slid down the dark hall with ease. The door at the end of the hall was cracked open with a slight light glowing from the opening. Soft and unassuming. A night light. He pushed the door open. Eli sat on his knees. Both of his hands were curled into fists at the set of bars that were beside his pillow. His eyes were squeezed shut, but there were lines of tears streaming down his cheeks, shining in the dim light coming from the corner of the room. He screamed again. “Oh, buddy, come on. It’s alright,” Paul said softly, crossing the room and bending down to scoop the boy up into his arms. Tiny arms pushed at his chest, wailing continuing. He grabbed both hands in one of his own to gently hold on to.“No, no, no. Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. It’s okay. It’s just me.”

Eli had been having nightmares periodically for the past few months. Just before summer turned into fall. At first, she had been convinced it was the beginning of a horror movie. That their house was possessed and waited until the baby had some consciousness before it chose to take hold of him. The pediatrician had disagreed with that theory and stated that things like nightmares and even night terrors were common in some children. They wouldn’t last forever, and he might not even fully remember it happening come morning. It was important to keep him on a regular sleep schedule, not allowing him to get overtired. Even so, they still came from time to time. Maybe once every couple of weeks, if that.

“It’s alright, Eli,” Paul told him, moving his hand to the back of Eli’s head. “You’re alright. It’s okay.” Cries continued into his neck. Sad muffled cries. “Oh, buddy. I know.” He paced around the room slowly. His hand ran from Eli’s head to his back, rubbing soft circles against his set of penguin pajamas. Another sob. “I know. I know. Daddy gets bad dreams, too. It’s okay.” A muffled  _ ‘daddy’ _ was muttered against his neck. Little fists clung onto his shirt. “Yeah, it’s just me. Just Daddy. No scary stuff.”

“Bad,” Eli whimpered into Paul’s neck, now wrapping his arms around it. “Hammy and Tad and Ah-liss. Moo-sic.” The incoherent babbling was normal. He usually had some sort of description of whatever had terrified him. Normally there was nothing of note. But this one had actual people he knew in it evidently. They were fairly certain that the professor’s name came out as Hammy because Eli was attempting to say Henry, but Emma had grown fond of it and was really sticking to it as the affectionate name that would be used for him going forward. Tad was Ted, who had secretly grown fond of Eli. Whenever they were left in a room together, Ted could usually be heard using goofy voices to elicit loud giggles out of Eli. Then there was Ah-liss. Alice was arguably one of Eli’s favorite people on the planet. She was the go-to babysitter since she and Deb had moved back into town. There were few people Eli was excited to go with if they weren’t his parents, but Ah-liss was one of them. “La la la,” he choked out a few sad notes through his tears. “Black… sticky. Daddy… scare Mama.”

It took all the strength Paul had to not tense up at the broken up words. He knew exactly what they meant. The dream was one he had as well. One that had woken Emma up out of a deep sleep screaming as well. “Is Daddy scary now, buddy?” Tears smeared against his neck as Eli shook his head. He hugged Eli close to his chest. “It was just a dream, Eli. It wasn’t real.” Was it, though? “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” He kept his eyes open and gazing outside. The light of the moon bounced off the windshields on both Emma’s and his cars. Everything glowed with a blue haze. The temperature had dropped significantly since the sun had gone down, and a thin fog was rising from the grass.

They stood there like that for what seemed to be ages. Quiet and warm together. Eli babbled nonsense as he tucked his head beneath Paul’s chin, arms still wrapped around the back of his neck. The tears had dried. Sniffles came while sleep took over the little boy. “Love, Papi,” he yawned barely above a whisper.

A smile finally broke out across Paul’s lips. He hadn’t realized how hard his heart was hammering in his chest. Anxious about the thought of the dream. Anxious about how real it felt. Anxious that his son appeared to be having the same dream, despite never being present in the scenario no matter how many times he’d dreamt of it. He glanced down at the sleepy little mop of curls in his arms. “I love you too, little buddy,” he whispered, kissing the top of Eli’s head.

A hand on his back made him jump slightly. Regret instantly washed over him in fear that he startled Eli into a more wakeful state. Another hand ran through Eli’s hair. He looked over his shoulder. Emma. Eli’s eyes widened as if he were going to start crying again. “Hey, E,” she said, voice calm and soothing. “Did you have the scary sleep with the music again?” Eli nodded into Paul’s chest. “Do you remember what I told you about that dream?” He curled into Paul’s chest as if he were avoiding her. Like he forgot an important step in a process. “Dreams are just silly stories we make up while we’re sleeping, right?” He hummed into Paul’s shirt. “Even if it’s the same one over and over again, it’s just a dream. You’re okay.” She looked directly up at Paul who had found himself staring back at her. Almost like her words weren’t just directed to the terrified toddler. “Sometimes crazy scary stuff can happen in dreams, but we always wake up and we’re safe.” Her hand ran down Paul’s back as her eyes moved back to Eli. A small grin quirked at the corners of her lips. “And besides, what do we  _ know  _ Daddy doesn’t like?”

“La la la,” Eli mumbled into the shirt with a hint of a giggle. Paul could feel the groan rising in his throat but held it back as best he could. 

“Good,” she commended, hand resting on Paul’s lower back. “And what do we know our Papi isn’t?”

“Scary.”

“Exactly.”

“Daddy sleep me?” She glanced up at him. The expression of her face was concerned. Curious too maybe. It was in that moment he realized how wide his eyes had remained. He hadn’t noticed. The thought that Eli may have known the terrifying places he had seen in his dreams. The idea that he might have had something to do with it. He brought his gaze down to the sleepy brown eyes staring up at him. Every single time, he melted. Then a tiny hand reached up to touch his face, and he was gone.

“Yeah, I can do that, bud.” Emma reached over his shoulder to kiss Eli’s forehead before placing one on his shoulder and exiting the room. “Alright, come on, guy.” Fitting just Eli in the bed was no big deal. Even Emma was able to squeeze herself into the bed with relative ease. It wasn’t a comfortable fit by any means, but she managed. Paul, however, had to find a way to make two feet of his body somehow not exist. In this case, his back arched against the head of the bed, shoulders bent at an awkward angle, so Eli could snuggle into his side. His legs bent at the knee, and his entire body was turned in such a way that they both would be able to fit across the mattress. If not for the, now, sleeping little one next to him, he would have seriously been regretting his choices.

The door slowly slid open again. Emma’s head poked in, and upon seeing he was still awake, she slipped in. “Hey,” she whispered. She held a particularly plush sleeping bag under one arm and a pillow in her other hand. Without another word, she laid out the sleeping bag beside the bed, placing the pillow on the floor beside where Eli’s was on the bed. “Figured you might need a little more space for those longass legs in a little bit.” A pill bottle shook in the dim light. “And some ibuprofen for when you get up all achy because you’re an old man.”

He held back his laughter in fear that he would wake Eli from the light sleep he hand just entered. “Thank you, Em,” he responded, voice just as light as hers. She placed the bottle up on the changing table, out of the reach of tiny hands. Rather than heading back out of the room, though, she knelt in front of the bars of the toddler bed Eli had only been sleeping in for the past few weeks. “I’m sorry that--”

Her hand reached out to touch his cheek. “You talk in your sleep sometimes. You know that?” she breathed, eyes scanning his face. She looked tired in the moonlight. A little older than she did during the day. Lines forming at the corners of her eyes and the sides of her mouth very gently. Gracefully even. But in the shadow of the moon, she looked exhausted. It could very well have been because it was nearly three in the morning, but he couldn’t be fully sure.

“No, I--”

“Paul, you’d be fucking sleeping. How would you even know if you were talking in your sleep?” She raised a fair point. Her hand lowered to brush back the curls off of Eli’s forehead, which were growing quickly. “You usually sound scared. Lost sometimes, too. You call my name a lot.” He thought about all the nights he spent in that dark and dank place, reaching out for her. Chasing after her. Only to have her slip away each and every time. “I don’t know what it is, and I know it’s not something you can apply any kind of fucking logic to. But I want you to know… I get it, and, um, I’m here if you need to talk about it.”

“Em, I’m sorry,” he started, feeling his heart rate increasing again. “I didn’t--”

“It’s okay, man,” she insisted as she sat back on the sleeping bag she laid out. “I get it. This place… this fucking  _ town _ is weird as shit. It does a lot of strange things to your head. I… I see Jane all the time, but I’ve only seen her since I came back. It would be in Beanies all the time. She’d just be sitting at one of those gross as hell tables even when I told her not to. To be fair, it wasn’t real, and she’s really fucking dead.”

“That was thoughtful. I know you barely cleaned those tables.”

“Fuck yeah I wasn’t going to clean those tables. I was making jackshit an hour to be abused by the general public every single day,” she snorted. Her volume immediately lowered when Eli stirred slightly. “Anyway, it was always Jane sitting there giving me shit before you walked in. And I didn’t even fucking know you, but she would always do one of these--” she mimed pointing away from her and giving a thumbs up with a wink, “--at you. Like, what the fuck. And then the singing--”

“I know you’ve seen it, too. I’m--”

“That’s what I’m trying to fucking say, Paul. Stop feeling sorry about something that didn’t happen. It’s okay,” she told him, slowly rising to her feet. “That’s not you.” She bent forward to kiss him on the forehead. “Don’t be sorry, but don’t keep it all bottled up either. That’s not healthy, and I could be, like, really good free therapy.” A light chuckle left his mouth. “Plus, if it keeps up, I think it’ll be good for little guy here to have someone who can back him up when things get scary.”

He thought about teasing her for a rare moment of clarity, but when he really put his mind to it, the clarity wasn’t so rare at all. She was often thoughtful and kind beneath her snarky exterior. No matter how much she wanted to claim she wasn’t. Somewhere along the way she had softened. She began to allow herself to be a little more open. Open to letting others in. Open to letting herself be a little less guarded with the people who cared about her. “Thank you, Em,” was what he settled on, catching her hand as she stood up.

From what he could tell in the dim light, she smiled down at him while giving his hand a soft squeeze. “Anytime, Papi,” she sighed. “Someone has to remind you to keep it goddamn together when the baby gets scared.” There was the teasing. Her hand lingered in his for a moment. Lingering contact as she liked to do as a silent way of reminding him she was just joking. “Plus I guess I kind of like you and care about your well being a little.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re getting soft on me, Emma Perkins.”

She dropped his hand and shrugged. “Well, what can I say? You wore me down, Matthews,” she replied as she walked back to the door. “Try to get some rest, and don’t fall asleep like that. You’ll get a crick in your neck and complain about it for the next fucking week.” Hanging in the doorway for a moment, she took a moment to just stare at them. Taking in the sight of a crumpled up Paul cuddling a no longer distressed Eli back to sleep. She smiled. “Love you, Paul.”

“Love you too, Em.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for clarification, I guess, the implication here is that there might be some passed down b&w things. I have seen theories of Lex and Hannah having it passed down to them, so here I am to ruin things. Truthfully, I am not going to destroy the world but do plan on using this idea in bits going forward as far as the dreams kind of coming up similarly for Paul and Eli.
> 
> Even though lil babey Eli hasn't witnessed the events of TGWDLM because he wasn't even a thing in that timeline, I do like the idea of everything going on all at once and of course he would gravitate towards who he knows best even if one of them is a singing and dancing nightmare zombie


	31. Apple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul attend Ted's Halloween party while Eli is with the babysitter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some fun stuff. Keep an eye out in here, though. There's some not super subtle stuff.

“I can’t fucking believe it.”

It was Ted’s turn to host Halloween.

“What?” Emma barked, shoving what looked like a tray that held syringes filled with bright red blood. All she had gotten as a response when asking what they were supposed to bring was  _ jello shots _ , which she had begrudgingly prepared.

With the tray now in his hands, Ted just stared at them, blinking. He wore one of his horrible, ill-fitting suits and terrible mustard button downs. His hair was fluffed with extra product. A wrapped box was attached to this crotch. “You got Paul to dress up in a real costume,” he clarified as he glanced down at the tray. “Fucking cool. Paul, how’d you score someone as--”

“Shut the fuck up, Ted.”

“Don’t sass me, Dr. Grant.”

Paul and Emma followed Ted in through the foyer of his house. As per usual, the decor was limited. Plain. Minimal. It reminded her a little of what Paul’s house had looked like when she first met him. A little empty. A little depressing. She glanced over her shoulder at him. Denim button up rolled to his elbows. Red bandanna tied around his neck. Tan hat that made him look like he was ready to go on a safari. It was the one costume he would agree to go in that wasn’t something stupid he would normally do.

Upon entering the kitchen, they were greeted by an enthusiastic Melissa, who was already somewhere between full on drunk and buzzed. “Look at you guys!” she hollered, wrapping an arm around both of them to create one big group hug. “Paul actually dressed up. I’m so proud of you!” She backed away and took in their costumes. Emma had dressed in tandem with him. A pair of high-waisted khaki shorts that were just tight enough that he whined about them driving him nuts as they left the house. Light purple tank top beneath a salmon colored button down, half buttoned and tied at the waistband of her shorts. Hair pulled up and out of her face. “Wow, Jurassic Park. So good. Look at you!” Melissa reached up and patted his cheek. “Finally not being a fucking stick in the mud!”

“Thanks, Melissa,” he mumbled, awkwardly returning her gesture with a pat on her shoulder. She adorned a yellow polo shirt and a pair of unflattering red short shorts. A red, Bubba Gump cap sat atop her head, and a grizzly fake beard hung from her chin. “Forrest Gump?”

“Bubba was my best good friend,” she replied in an exaggerated southern accent while pointing at her hat with her free hand. In the other, she held a glass filled with a bright green concoction. “Emma, you’ve gotta try this. Charlotte really outdid herself with the booze this year.” Across the kitchen, there were two large punch bowls. One was filled with the green liquid Melissa had been going on about. The other held a drink that appeared almost black, but upon seeing it be poured into a glass, it was more of a midnight blue. Both looked toxically alcoholic.

Emma reached past Melissa to grab a handful of Chex Mix. “Um, maybe later,” she hummed, picking the pretzels out of the mix in her hand and popping them into her mouth. “Might actually be taking a dry night tonight. Have to let the big guy here have some fun. It’s only fair that I play D.D. sometimes.”

“C’mon, Emma!” Melissa groaned, thrusting her drink into Emma’s face. “Just try a sip of mine!”

Glancing back at Paul, who simply shrugged with eyebrows raised, Emma rolled her eyes. “I’ll just go get my own, Melis,” she told her as she pushed her hand back down. “Just not ready yet. I want to get some fucking snacks in me, so I’m not puking my fucking brains out all night.”

“You’re  _ so  _ smart,” Melissa said, smacking her hand against her forehead. Like it was the greatest revelation she had ever heard. A hand clapped down onto Paul’s shoulder. “Paul.” She pulled him down to be nose to nose with her. “Let’s you and me get on the level.”

“Okay,” he responded, looking over to Emma for help. All she did was shrug with her eyebrows raised. A direct dig at his earlier response to her. Melissa was so close to his face he could feel her breath on his face. It smelled like green apple flavoring and vodka. “I guess…?”

“Emma,” she began, pointing over in Emma’s direction. “Is my  _ best  _ friend. And she is the most beautiful and special and wonderful person I’ve ever met.” Okay, maybe she was closer to drunk than buzzed. “She’s the most amazing person. Like, wow. She even made you cool!”

“That’s not fair. I--”

“Paul, you were kind of a douche.”

“Ouch, Mel. That’s cold.”

“Well, like, you didn’t care about what we thought about you, and we’ve been… fucking… going out for drinks every Thursday for the past ten years. Bet you didn’t know that!” He opened his mouth to respond, but she stabbed a finger into his chest before he had the chance. “I  _ bet! _ Like, you just didn’t care about anything or anyone around you, but now, wow you’re kinda fun. Not as much fun as me, but still!”

“Um, thanks… I think?” he finally piped up. Beside him, Emma had popped back over with a glass filled with the dark blue drink. He eyed her curiously.

“Looked like you could get a drink in you, Papi,” she explained as he took the glass from her hand. “It’s some kind of crazy margarita. I don’t know. It smelled like oranges and a good time for me later. Thought you might like it.” She looked back at Melissa, pointing down at the glass that was nearly empty in Melissa’s hand. “Mel, that shit is dangerous. Tastes just like a Jolly Rancher, huh?”

“Mhhhmmmmm,  _ so  _ good,” she mused, leaning back against the island in the kitchen. “You guys are cute, by the way. This whole thing.” She motioned sloppily between the two. A flailing hand smacked Paul in the face. She snorted and waved him off when he recoiled. “It’s a good thing, I think. Like, you guys are happy, which is really nice because Paul’s not an apathetic douche anymore.”

“Honestly, Melissa, we get it,” he grumbled, taking a swig of the dark liquid. Emma had been right. He very much liked the drink. What a woman. “I was an insufferable douchebag. Glad to see you’ve always thought highly of me.”

“Listen, buddy,” she sighed as she bent forward again to rest a hand on his shoulder, nearly falling over in the process. He reached out to grab her arm out of instinct. His eyes drifted back to Emma, who was watching them intently while shoveling more Chex Mix (now on a plate) into her mouth. “It was sad watching you, bro. You were  _ such _ a fucking square, my man. So boring and… I don’t know. Sad. But you’re good now. You kinda look like you have… something to fucking look forward to.” The words sat like a rock in his stomach because he knew she was right. He hadn’t been happy, and it affected everything around him. Including the people who had become his friends. “To be fair, if I got to go home to that one, I’d be pretty fucking stoked, too. You really went for it.”

“Mel, it’s only seven o’clock,” Emma interjected, grabbing her glass. “I think you should give it a rest.”

“Look, you’ve turned her into a fucking mom,” Melissa continued. Her brows furrowed as she thought about her words. “Oh my  _ god _ , you literally  _ did _ do that.  _ Wow! _ Good for you!” She held her hand up for a high five, which he reluctantly returned.

“Good fucking god,” Emma muttered while looking back to Paul. “I’m going to get her water. Do you want anything, big guy?”

He looked at the glass that he had drained half the liquid out of. “Yeah, another one of whatever this is, please?” he requested. “I think we’re going to be here for a while.” With a single finger gun, she took off in the direction of Charlotte and Bill, who were chatting between the punch bowls and a plate full of mini hotdogs wrapped in crescent rolls to look like mummies. When he brought his attention back to Melissa, she was looking down at her feet. A worn out pair of white Converse and mid-calf white socks. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, preparing to open Pandora’s box. “What’s up, Melissa?”

Melissa chewed her lip. She kicked the toe of her shoe against the tiled floor. If it wasn’t for the fake beard, she would have looked like a little kid. Embarrassed about something. Bashful. “How’d you do it, Paul?” she asked with a little more clarity in her voice.

“Do what?” He cocked his head to the side slightly.

“Y’know…” She grabbed his empty left hand and wiggled his ring finger. “How’d you do it?”

He furrowed his brows, glancing between her and his wedding band. “Propose?” he questioned while narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah! How’d you do it?”

“I don’t know… I just, y’know, got down on one--”

“No, not like that, you fucking nerd!” He held his hands up in defense, three outer fingers raised on the hand holding the glass. “No, like, how’d you get the… fucking nerve to do it?”

One of his brows arched. “Are you thinking about proposing?” he wondered, sipping his drink.

“Yeah, look!” She pulled out her phone. “Fuck… shit… there we go.” It took three tries for her to actually get her passcode correct. “Look.” She shoved her phone into his face. The photo on it was a simple gold band with a small red stone laid horizontally in the gold. “Ellie isn’t a jewelry kinda person, but I was reading about rubies. And it said this shit online about people who wear them will have all this fucking love and friendship with these… profound fucking feelings.” 

He let her words ruminate in his mind as he gazed across the kitchen. The house was filling up with people he didn’t know. Running the gambit in ages. Some looked a little older than alice. Others looked to be hitting their mid-fifties, early sixties. When did Ted find the time to meet so many people? Let alone people who tolerated him enough to come to a goddamn Halloween party. His eyes found her between Bill and a tall man dressed head to toe in a Zorro costume but with a pair of oversized round glasses over his mask. She had his second drink in one hand and Melissa’s water in the other. He couldn’t help but grin. To his surprise, she had worn his grandmother’s old ring nearly everyday since receiving it. She still wore both rings everyday unless she was painting or cooking. Sometimes she even fell asleep with them on. It wasn’t anything too crazy, but a warm feeling rose in his stomach, thinking back to a time when she wouldn’t even admit he was her boyfriend.

“Listen, Melissa, you’ve just gotta go for it,” he stated honestly, his gaze falling back on her. “I don’t know. I didn’t even think she would say yes. I thought it was going to be me trying to back peddle so bad because she would want to leave right after we just signed on a thirty year fucking mortgage.” Melissa chuckled without looking up from her phone. “I just  _ really _ felt like I wanted to. For the first time in my whole life, I didn’t have any doubts about something. I knew I didn’t want anyone else. Still don’t. Because she makes shit better and puts up with me being an apathetic douche sometimes. We fight sometimes, but she’s the best part of my life. There’s no one else I’d ever want to do this with.” Some time during his speech, he had drifted back to Emma across the room. When she looked over her shoulder at him and stuck out her tongue, a grin grew across his face as he flipped her off. 

“You wanna propose for me, Paul?”

“Oh, god no. It was the most nerve wracking few months of my life carrying that ring around, and I was pretty sure I was about to have a heart attack when I finally committed to asking,” he said. He lifted his drink to his mouth again, disappointed to find only ice. Looking back down at Melissa, he sighed and took his turn to place a hand on her shoulder. “If you’re going to do it, just fucking do it. That’s the best advice I can give you. The only advice I can really give you really. If you want it, don’t… pull a fucking Paul and just wait for it to happen. You’ve got to go for it.”

“We love self awareness,” Melissa commended, raising her glassless hand to his. They did a mock cheers and laughed harder than they should have over it. She was really a fun friend to have made. Perpetually peppy even if it came with a bit of spice, which he assumed is what Emma liked about her to begin with. Constantly observant. Sometimes there were things that she seemed to know about people before they even did. Supportive to a fault. The kind of friend who would definitely help you dispose of a dead body without even thinking twice about it. “Really, though, thanks, Paul. That was… oddly helpful.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? It’s what I’m good at. Vague helpfulness,” he replied, jumping when an arm snaked around his back. He looked down to find a shit eating grin staring back up at him. “Jesus Christ, what are you doing sneaking around like that?”

“I couldn’t resist,” she teased, trading his empty glass for a filled one. “You looked so serious. It was the perfect fucking moment to make you jump.”

Shaking his head, he took a gulp of the fresh drink. “I hate you,” he mumbled into his glass.

“No, you don’t,” Emma and Melissa shot back in unison. They pointed at each other with raised brows and big open mouthed smiles. “Eeey!” The babbled nonsense back and forth. Maybe it wasn’t nonsense, but it surely wasn’t something that he was in on. It did give him a hot second to really make headway in his second drink. He could tell that Charlotte made the drinks. They tasted only faintly of alcohol, but his head was already swimming. The room was full and the air was thick and warm with the smell of junk food and booze. His gaze moseyed across the room. Trying to take note of any faces he knew. There were a few here or there that he was pretty sure he recognized from high school. No one of note aside from the usual suspects. 

“Hey,” Emma chuckled, pinching his side. He looked down to find her holding her phone up to him. On the screen was a picture of Eli wearing what appeared to be Deb’s yellow beanie. A wide smile was on his face, and a small stuffed dinosaur was in his hand. The shirt was new, though. Likely a gift from Alice and Deb.  _ ‘Friday is my mom’s second favorite f-word’ _ . “Why is Alice the best?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, taking her phone to look at the picture closer. He couldn’t stop the smile that was spreading across his own lips. “Wow, what a guy.”

“God, you fucking nerd,” she snorted as she took her phone back to slide into her back pocket. “That green drink really did smell good, though. Fuck Charlotte for making that drink  _ this  _ year”

“I’m sure she’d make it again if you asked.”

“That’s not the point. Look at Drunky McPissface over there.” She gestured to Melissa, who had moved down the island to poke fun at Bill, hands perched on his hips in a very angry dad fashion. “Imagine how much fun we’d be having if I was drinking.”

“I’m sor--”

“Paul, obviously, I’m exaggerating, so don’t fucking apologize.”

“I just don’t want you to--”

She patted his chest in an effort to get him to shut up, looking up at him. He wasn’t sure if it was the booze or just her, but she was looking particularly enticing in the salmon shirt. Those warm chocolate eyes. Teasing smirk. He leaned back to get a look at her ass. “Paul, what the fuck?” she hissed, this time smacking his chest. He jerked forward with an ‘ow’, a hand flying to the spot she had slapped. “Get your shit together.”

“Emma, you told me to drink, so I did. I told you those shorts were going to drive me nuts, so you wore them.” She rolled her eyes. “I am a simple man. I drink the shit my wife gives me, and I look at her butt. That’s it.”

She leaned back to mirror his previous act, but she included a small pinch before smirking back up at him. “I’m a simple--”

“Gross, get a room!” Ted shouted across the kitchen.

“Gross, go find someone who actually wants your dick in a box!” Paul snapped back without skipping a beat, sending her into a fit of laughter.

“Oh my god,” she said through her giggles, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “Paul, that was fantastic.” He smiled down at her. “I don’t know if it’s just hilarious or if you’re really hot right now.”

“How about both? I’ll take both.”

“Don’t get greedy.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for later.”

“I swear, you’ve become a lightweight. There’s no way you’re that drunk.” She curled into his side in what seemed like a sweet gesture, pulling his face down to hers. “But we’re going to have some fun with that bandana later, boy-o.” His face flushed red. “Not so fucking cheeky now, huh?”

Instead of responding, he drained the rest of his drink in the hope that the cool liquid would somehow calm him the fuck down. Then he caught sight of her smug fucking face, and a realization hit him. It was going to be a long fucking night thinking about that goddamn bandanna. 


	32. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma comes home from work and has to locate Paul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simply fluff. That's all this is. Plotless fluff.

The house was quiet when Emma entered. It was a rare Friday where she actually had to go into the office. She toed off her ankle boots onto the mat beside the front doorway. They fell haphazardly beside a brown pair of Paul’s dress shoes, neatly placed together at the far end. In front of his shoes, there was a small pair of velcro dinosaur shoes. A purchase she had pushed for. Tiny Converse. Too expensive for something Eli would grow out of in a number of months, according to Paul. Cool as shit and on sale so why the fuck not, according to her.

“Hey,” she called into the house as she tossed her jacket onto the banister. She dug the pad of her thumb into her temple. Her head had been killing her since she got up that morning, and the Tylenol had done jack shit for the pain. The house remained still except for Janis sitting between the slats in the rail that overlooked the foyer, tail flicking back and forth. “The boys go out, Mama?” Janis rubbed her face on one of the slats. “A walk maybe?”

The kitchen was quiet as well except for Walter happily purring at one of the stools in front of the island. No boys. Strange. She crossed the kitchen and opened a cabinet to pull out a tall glass. “Walt, it’s been a long fucking day. Let me tell ya,” she sighed, heading over to the fridge to fill her glass with ice. Walter jumped up onto the island. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled. “Buddy, don’t let Dad catch you up there. He’ll get all up in your shit because you’re a fucking cat on the counter.”

Walter simply meowed in response, sitting his cat butt right on the counter. “It’s your funeral, my man,” she continued as she moved over to the sink, flipping the faucet to the filter. “I don’t know.” Water filled the glass. Ice clattered against the edges, filling the air with noise to intertwine with Walt’s purring. She turned around while taking a long sip of her water. “Oh, I’m sorry, you needy little shit.” Her hand ran over his head. He stood and pushed his head against her hand, happy to have the attention. “Have the boys been ignoring you all day? What an asshat. Want me to beat him up for you?”

Behind the sound of the ice and the cat, there was a quiet mumble of speech somewhere in the house. Walt looked up at her with his head tilted to the side. “Where the hell are they?” she muttered, rounding the corner of the island. The door to the basement was cracked open just slightly. As she approached it, she heard Walter jump from the counter to follow her. She turned slightly at the door, nudging the cat with her foot. “Sorry, bud. You have to stay up here. Don’t need you getting trapped down there and shitting on the floor.”

Even though the cat looked incredibly bummed out to not be able to follow her downstairs, she pulled the door shut behind her. A light was glowing down the stairs and the hum of conversation grew louder as she descended the steps. “Listen, Bill, I’m really sorry that Katherine is giving you a hard time about… yeah, I know. Bill, Alice is an adult,” she could hear Paul talking from his office at the far end of the basement. “Come on, man. You should… listen, if Eli decides one day he wants to marry some total pothead guy, I’d like to think I’d respect his choices.” She had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing at the awkward corner he was being backed into by Bill. “Bill!” His voice was hard. Stern. “Don’t let her give you a hard time because you can’t buy your daughter some huge wedding. Does Alice want something like that?” A moment’s silence. “Okay, does she even want you paying for it? Exactly. Just take it easy, man.”

She stood at the doorway, peeking through the crack in the door. He sat in his chair, leaning back with a hand through his hair and his phone pressed up against his ear. “Right, man,” he replied to whatever Bill said on the other side of the phone. Eli sat in his lap with a thick paged cardboard book, flipping back and forth between pages. Grinning and lifting the book up to show Paul various pages, who responded by leaning down and giving an ‘ooh’ or an ‘ahh’ quietly at whatever picture was being shown.

The hand from his hair lowered to rest on Eli’s belly, thumb tapping against his chest. “Bill, I’ve… yeah, I know. Bill, I’ve got to go. Can you just email those reports from last quarter to me? Thanks, man… yeah, I will. Tell Alice we say hi… will do. Bye, Bill.” He placed his phone back on his desk and then ran his hand over Eli’s curls. “Oh man, buddy,” he breathed. Peering down through his glasses, he grinned down as Eli pushed the book up at him. “How’s the  _ Rainbow Fish _ doing?”

“Fish!”

“Yeah, you got it, bud!” he laughed while he gently bounced his legs up and down. The smile grew across his lips. Wide and bright. His entire face glowed. Effervescent happiness. It was obvious that Eli looked very much like her. Same tiny nose. Warm brown eyes. Dark curly hair. But there were some moments where she was certain he was all Paul. Quiet. Eyes filled with curiosity. Big doofy smile. And clearly, he was already a big dumb book nerd. Not that she would really complain. He was a good boy, and she was certain that was all Paul’s doing. 

She leaned her head against the doorframe, knocking into the door open just slightly. Both Paul and Eli looked up and gave her the same grin. Cursing internally, she made her way through the door. Something in her was hoping to just watch them a little while longer. Get a peek in on moments she didn’t get to witness too often without Eli getting distracted by her. “Don’t let me interrupt,” she insisted while she took another swig of her water.

“Mama!” Eli hollered, jolting up on Paul’s lap. In an instant, Paul’s reflexes kicked in to grab Eli before he toppled over. He lowered the jumping bean to the floor, and Eli toddled over to Emma quickly. The book was thrusted in her direction. “Fish!”

Bending down to kneel in front of him, she looked at the cover of the book. Her smile matched both of theirs now. “Yeah? Still liking the fish?” He pulled the book back to his chest and giggled in response. She reached out to tickle his stomach. The recoil he gave was less that he was stunned by the tickle, and more that he wanted to just play along with it. “Okay, I need something from you, my guy.” She pointed to her cheek. “Sugar stat, Dr. Baby!”

Little arms wrapped around her neck. One big wet kiss landed on her cheek. If she had told herself ten years ago that a toddler would be covering her in slobber, she would have gagged. Children had been less than appealing to her for her entire life. They were sticky and smelly and shit all the time, but she was fairly sure her mind started turning in a different way when she met Tim. He was smart and good and so, so, so sweet. It was all Jane, of course. Because even though she and Tom were on fairly good terms in the present, she still could only remember him as an insufferable asshole. But he wasn’t at all like the kids she could remember picturing from being out at restaurants or stores. Screaming bratty nightmares who couldn’t give any less of a shit about their barely present parent’s scolding. Suddenly, kids had seemed not so bad once Tim was in the picture.

Then enter: Paul. He didn’t push things. There was this constant patience that seemed to radiate off of him. Willing to wait for her to catch up no matter what the issue was. Hell, she didn’t even want him to call her his girlfriend until nearly half a year into dating. Even after she had basically been squatting in his house for days on end. He allowed her to open up gradually. In a way where she felt comfortable. Almost silly for thinking she couldn’t do it earlier. This goddamn nerd had weaseled his way into her soul and comforted it into making a life with him. And all things considered, she wasn’t going to complain about that.

She scooped Eli up in her arms, propping his butt up with her forearm. “Hey,” Paul greeted, picking a stuffed giraffe up off the floor and putting it back on his desk. “How was your day?”

“Well, I feel like shit, and my pants are starting to fit weird,” she answered as she sat down on the edge of the desk. He took the glass of water from her hand. Her eyes shifted back to Eli. “But we’re not going to repeat naughty mommy words, right?” She poked his belly again, causing him to curl into her chest. With a wide beaming smile now on her face, she looked over her shoulder at Paul. His eyes were already on them, watching on fondly. “How’s Bill?”

The expression changed briefly to one of dread. “God, Bill,” he groaned, running his hands over his face under his glasses. “I just needed some stuff emailed to me. That was  _ literally  _ it. Do you want to know how long I was on the phone with him?”

“I don’t know, Paul. How long?”

“An  _ hour,” _ he told her, slapping his hands onto his thighs. “He just kept going on about his ex-wife being up in his business about how he needs to be doing more for Alice’s wedding and… oh, and Alice is getting married.”

“Good for her. Deb is cool. They’re good together.”

“Right, that’s what  _ I’m  _ saying,” he agreed before turning back to his computer, presumably to check his email. “But his ex-wife is getting all uptight because he can’t afford some big thing, which Alice wouldn’t want anyway. She also wouldn’t want him shelling out that kind of money. But all I wanted were those reports and--”

Leaning back, she pushed his laptop closed once his hands moved back to emphasize his words. He looked up at her, blinking. “Papi, it’s six on a Friday night,” she stated as she leaned forward again. “I think you can leave your Bill troubles for Monday and come have dinner with us. Well, you two can have something good. I’ll have, like, fu...toast or something because otherwise I might yak all over the place.” 

He frowned. “I’m sorry, Em,” he sighed. “I didn’t know you’d be feeling so gross.”

She stood with Eli still holding his book close to his chest in her arms. “Listen,” she began, shifting all the weight into a more comfortable position to carry him before moseying over to the door. “Well, no one could have predicted that, right? Plus, not all of ‘em could be as good as this one. We knocked it out of the park on the first try.”

Rising to his feet and closing the gap between them, he couldn’t help but let his grin find its way back to his face. “Yeah, you did a good job cooking this one,” he commented, tousling Eli’s curls. “He’s a pretty tasty one.” At those words, Eli’s eyes went wide, and he squealed. With a hand behind Eli’s back to support some of his weight, Paul leaned in and pretended to nibble at his neck. Loud and overexaggerated chewing noises came from his mouth. Delighted laughter escaped Eli. “He just discovered Cookie Monster, so here we are,” he whispered to her as he pulled away. His attention returned to the joyfully shrieking boy. “Daddy monster!”

There had been so many doubts in her mind even when she was pregnant. So many concerns over how the baby would be. If he would like her. If he would be terrible. If somehow she would be birthing the Antichrist. She worried that she wouldn’t be able to give the baby the love children needed. It was hard enough for her to show love to the people she had loved most in her life. She hadn’t seen Jane for the last ten years of her life. She was lucky Paul was so smitten with her that he was willing to weather any storm she pulled him through. The thought of having to give out love to a creature she never even met before was terrifying. She looked back so often on her own parents being unable to love both Jane and her when they were growing up. Two people who had actively chosen to have two children. Even when there were moments where it seemed like they were making headway with love, they would always pull back. She would always end up in the corner wondering what she did wrong.

But there she was, scattering frenzied kisses on the chubby cheek in front of her as a response to Paul’s fake eating. Kiss after kiss after kiss. Hoping that she could make up for all the times she had missed with Jane. All the times she had been denied by her own parents. “Oh no, Daddy monster got me, too!” she bellowed, going back in for more kisses. “Mama monster is here to f… get you, Dr. Baby!”

As she continued to cover Eli’s little squealing face in kisses, she could hear Paul laughing behind them. A light chuckle. Twinged with affection. He watched over them the same way she had been doing earlier. Happy to act as the audience for a moment. This was a moment she had wondered about as a child. Things she had seen on TV and in movies. Where the happy family would be together, laughing. Enjoying one another. It was something that seemed completely unattainable for so long, but she was there. She made it. For just a moment, she pulled back and looked at Eli’s face, pinched with laughter. Her heart felt like it was melting. She didn’t know how her parents, Paul’s parents, anyone like them couldn’t feel that same way. Like their heart was melting and being molded into something newer and stronger. Something fuller.

She was determined to make sure that her family knew she loved them. Even if it took the form of the dreaded Emma monster, who was currently taking her attacks out on Eli. Much to the delight of the far less loud Paul monster. This was her family. She was happy and instantly struck with a strange thought. For the first time in her life, she was fucking thankful for the hell hole that was Hatchetfield.


	33. Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma learns that Paul has some interesting abilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some more fluff with a little peppering of Paul was really unhappy a long time ago in there for flavor.

“I’m sorry. Are you fucking braiding my hair?”

The movement Paul had been making behind Emma ceased as he tensed up for a moment. Eli had finally wound down enough to get to bed. On days where they both worked, he was excessively excited to see whichever one got to chateau Hidgens first. They had lined up their schedules to work around whenever Hidgens taught his day classes. Tuesdays and Thursdays for the most part. It wasn’t an ideal babysitting situation. At least in Paul’s opinion, but Hidgens had yet to experiment on Eli. Which is exactly what Emma had predicted, as he was far more into composing the score for his second musical: the thrilling sequel to Working Boys. During the summer, they had number one babysitter extraordinaire Alice lined up. Something Paul was completely comfortable with. Eli always returned to them calm, quiet, and happy after a day with Alice. Post-Hidgens, he would bounce off the walls, giggling maniacally. Emma reasoned it was due to the different energies Hidgens and Alice gave off, which Paul thought was a crock of shit.

She had spent at least a half hour in the shower, letting the water run over her until it was cold. Everything hurt as of late for her. Existence was achy and grouchy. She spent most morning hunched over the toilet, and the days that she didn’t, almost any food with even a hint of an odor repulsed her. Then the kid came home and ran around like an errant pinball, screaming with laughter as Paul tried to catch his silly naked butt to put him in the bath. She had gotten out of the shower and immediately threw one of his t-shirts on and fell onto the bed in front of him after brushing her teeth.

He sat up against the headboard with a book in hand.  _ Dopesick _ written in plain white font across the grey cover.  _ Dealers, doctors, and the drug company that addicted America _ in a smaller red font above an image of a neighborhood of oversized cookie cutter houses nestled in the woods with mountains in the distance. Nothing like a little bit of light reading before bed. To be fair, he didn’t care about the subject matter in the books he read before bed. The act of reading was all he needed to have his eyelids start feeling heavy. Just something for him to run his eyes over. Methodical.

At some point after she sat before him, though, he put the book down on his nightstand and ran his fingers through her wet hair. Gently combing through curls weighed down by the now frigid water. It wasn’t something he did very often if at all. She was far more likely to absentmindedly run her fingers through his hair than the other way around. Not that she was going to complain about it. She hadn’t ever considered someone playing with her hair. In all fairness, she wasn’t one to be touched for a very long time. She had been touchy her whole life. Hands on arms to get attention in a conversation. Hands on knees when doubling over with laughter. Hands on backs when moving behind someone not facing her. But being touched in return wasn’t something she ever expected or even wanted.

Once again, he came in and changed things. He always wanted to be touching her in some way, shape, or form. Sometimes she wondered if he even realized he did it. Sitting after dinner with his brother and sister-in-law with his fingers idly grazing against her upper back. Watching TV late at night while he read a book with his hand resting on top of her knee, only moving to turn the page. Stepping through doorways with a gentle guiding hand on her lower back. They weren’t conscious touches. Almost like a magnet being drawn to a piece of metal. It was something she had quietly grown to love. Gentle touches like electricity against her. 

“I, um, maybe,” he answered, strands of her hair still between his fingers. “Is… that okay?”

“Yeah, I just didn’t know you could even do that.” The braiding began again. Rhythmic movements. Over. Under. Over. Under. He would find his way to the ends of her hair and run his fingers through it again to begin the braid all over. “Where’d you learn to braid hair, big guy? Seems like a weird fucking hobby for a little boy with a bunch of older brothers to pick up. Not that I’m going to judge what kind of shit you got into. I’m just curious.”

“Oh, no, I mean, Jack and I really tried to get into whatever the hell that… I don’t know, that schwoopy longer hair, but nothing long enough to braid. Dan had frosted tips at some point, too,” he explained without skipping a beat with braiding. “I think he burned every picture we had of him with that hair, but there’s something somewhere. I hope his stupid kids find pictures of him from the nineties and roast the shit out of him.”

She tilted her head back to look at him, her palms pressed against the mattress beside his thighs to support her. “As much as I’d like to hear about Dan’s frosted tips, I really need to get a picture of your dork ass with that dumb haircut,” she teased. He glanced up from her hair to meet her eyes, only to roll his a second later, but he couldn’t hide the tiny smirk that crossed his lips. “You didn’t have that haircut at that Halloween party.”

“Yeah, it was pretty greasy and gross because I was a teenage boy. I couldn’t deal with it,” he replied, lips pursed as if he was trying to recall back to that Halloween party. “How would you even remember that? You were so fucking drunk you let some weirdo with an eyepatch walk you home.”

“Listen, bonehead, you’re a weirdo who wore an eyepatch and didn’t even have the excuse of being drunk,” she shot back. Her arm reached back and a single finger reached out to poke the tip of his nose. His face pinched in response. “None of this sounds like an explanation for your braiding skills. You avoiding the question, Matthews?”

Shaking his head, he nudged her head forward again, so he could go at her hair again. “No, I’m not avoiding the question, Emma,” he insisted as he raked his fingers through her long hair. “It was my girlfriend in college who taught me. She had this… really long hair. Like, stupid long. I loved it back then, but when I think about it now, how did she not sit on it? Just… gross.” He shook his head again, this time out of disgust. “She… nevermind.”

“Look at you getting all embarrassed because you liked people that weren’t me,” she chuckled, fingers running along his arms. “I can’t believe you had the audacity to date anyone that wasn’t me.” Silence. He quietly continued to carefully fold strands of hair over one another. “I’m just fucking with you, Paul.”

“I know you are,” he sighed. “I just… I don’t know that we even liked each other. It was stupid. We started going out because someone said we should. I slept with her because my roommate gave me shit for taking so long to do it. I mean, shit, I went off to college without even having a girl look in my direction.” Her hand reached up again toward his face. He leaned in to have his nose meet the tip of her index finger. “Yes, I know. Weirdly enough,  _ you _ while you were so drunk you almost threw up on a guy’s shoes--a guy you wanted to make out with for whatever reason.”

“You were cute, and I was a drunk seventeen year old.” He chuckled, dropping her hair in a heavy braid. She ran her hand over the braid. “Holy shit. Is this a french braid?” She whipped around to look at him. “Have you been a hair stylist this whole time? What the fuck? This bitch had you whipped.”

“I don’t know. I just wanted her to be happy,” he admitted without bringing his eyes to meet hers. “She might’ve really liked me. She cried when she dumped me. We dated for a couple years. Lived together for a few months even. When she told me she loved me, I said it back, but it was fucked up, Em, because I didn’t. I just--”

“You were yes manning her.”

“I guess. I don’t know if I was or if I just didn’t know. Glen got married that summer, and he seemed to act the same way around his wife as I did around Jess.” It hadn’t occurred to her to think about his past with any relationships. He never talked about it. Not that she had much to say in regard to her own previous romps, but she did mention them from time to time. Mostly as flings in Guatemala. No names or descriptions. In her defense, there were some people whose names she didn’t remember because of allegedly drug or alcohol induced states of mind. But Paul never mentioned anything romantic from his past. Not in detail. He had alluded to a girlfriend or two before her. Dates here and there to appease Bill. “I thought that was how it was supposed to be. I just didn’t want to be alone forever.”

His eyes were distant. Sad even. Thinking about lonely depressed Paul. Making his way through college across the country. Hoping to make something out of the nothing he was finding there. Going out with a girl he sort of liked. Tolerated maybe. Assuming that was what he was going to do with his life. “She dumped me at a diner and told me that she was really unhappy. She cried. I apologized. Her things were gone when I got back to the place we were renting with some friends, and the thing was I didn’t feel sad about her leaving. I was surprised that she was unhappy, y’know? I thought things were okay. They were moving along. Making all the moves we should have been. I don’t know. 

“I moved back home a couple months later after graduation. And then into a tiny apartment that I’m pretty sure had a cockroach problem. Then onto Bill’s couch. And everywhere I went I kept thinking about her being so unhappy and how I didn’t know how miserable she really was. Then I got to thinking about it. Really when I moved into the old house. I was really miserable.” He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in. “I was really fucking depressed I think. I was trying to run away from things and make the motions I thought I should. Most days I was a little disappointed when I actually woke up.” He paused, drumming his fingers against the mattress. She could feel the vibrations against the bed. “I don’t know. She taught me how to braid, so I could help her with her longass hair. And now I kind of wonder if it ended up in her asscrack, and I get a little grossed out.”

She let out a bark of a laugh and fell back against him. “What the fuck, Paul?” she guffawed as she felt a laugh rise in his chest. “What the hell is wrong with you? Her  _ asscrack?” _ The laughter grew between both of them until it was all consuming. She curled her legs up toward her and threw her head back against his shoulder. He laid a hand across his eyes, mouth wide with a smile. “Jesus Christ, Paul.”

“What? Tell me you haven’t seen someone with excessively long hair and wondered?”

“Well… I don’t know.  _ Maybe. _ But still, you’re a fucking weirdo,” she reiterated as she pulled the wet braid from between them over her shoulder. One of his hands found hers, thumb running along her palm. It was hard to imagine him with anyone else. Honestly, it was difficult for her to imagine herself with anyone else, and she was there to witness that. Sitting there in bed, pressed up against him talking about long hair in someone’s asscrack, felt good. The reality that they had both been relatively unhappy people in the past was one that she was well aware of, but it didn’t sit well with her to think about him being so apathetic. Listless. “Are you happy now, Paul?”

“Hm?” he hummed, looking down at her to find her eyes staring back up at him. “Yeah, of course, I’m happy.” His other arm wrapped around her, hand resting at her stomach. “This is good. I’m very happy.”

“Well, fucking good. Because I am, too, and you’re not getting rid of me.”

“Awesome, I was hoping you’d say this because I really don’t want to have to hire your old buddy Gary for divorce proceedings.”

“Good because you wouldn’t. Clearly  _ Gary Goldstein, attorney at law _ would be my attorney because once upon a time I’m pretty sure he wanted to fuck me.”

“But now… he’s Dan’s sister-in-law, Linda’s, baby daddy to only… two of her kids?”

“Look at you catching up on your Hatchetfield High lore. Good job, Papi.”

“Oh, it’s great. Like a bad daytime soap opera or something. It’s multigenerational and has probably gone on too many seasons.”

She craned her neck to look up at him, cheek pressed against the fabric of his shirt. “Oh man, I like you,” she mumbled while grabbing his chin in her hand.

“Gross. You  _ like _ me? Like,  _ like _ like?”

“Nevermind. I fucking take it back.”

“No take backs. You’ve already seen my penis and fought my dad.”

“Are those the rules?”

“I think so. I haven’t read the rulebook in a long time, but I’m pretty sure those are the rules.”

“Once I don’t feel like fucking road kill, I’m going to have to inspect those rules and maybe get a refresher on the penis because it’s been a while.”

“Yeah, I think I can pencil you in.”

“Oh good, glad I can get into your busy schedule.”

“Only because I like you.”

“Oooh, you have a crush on me.”

He leaned over to kiss her cheek, lingering there for just a moment. “Yeah, you better believe I do,” he stated matter-of-factly. Both arms moved to wrap her up in a hug from behind, which she leaned into gladly. “Best crush I ever had.”

“Ugh, nerd.”

But that did make her smile.


	34. Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet lil flashback guy. Emma and Paul celebrate New Years... kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've changed actual years to "before" because I don't know what time is anymore and that's good and ambiguous enough that it should work well enough to establish that this happened a while ago.
> 
> (their first year of dating to be exact. right before she moves in. :D)

_ before _

The TV was muted, but the image displayed on it was loud. Hundreds of people lined up in Times Square. A man who was much past his prime and filled with well placed silicon yelled into a microphone. Shiny drunken faces cheered and hollered. She sat on the couch with a glass of some sad combination of liquor in her hand. Another New Years alone. Not that she ever really expected any different. Coming back to Hatchetfield didn’t mean she was going to suddenly have this gaggle of friends to hang around with. She was there to get a degree and get to know her nephew. Then the plan was to move far enough away to still be involved with Tim but also be out of that godforsaken town.

She didn’t account for Paul.

It was a strange thing to lie about. Having New Years Eve plans, but when he had asked her what she was up to, she said she was going to Melissa’s, knowing full well she was not, in fact, going to Melissa’s. A party she had declined attending, much to Melissa’s disappointment. She couldn’t even give a coherent reason in her own mind. The concoction of liquor slid down her throat like tar, providing a temporary distraction from the lie she was trying to decipher.

Boxes littered the tiny space of her apartment. Half-packed with her entire life. Haphazardly labeled. She had too much shit for the little room she had in the place. Most of it wasn’t anything she needed. Lots of clothes she never wore. Knick knacks from her years in Guatemala. A box of things from Jane sat in front of the couch still taped shut. She had never opened it. Maybe she would just leave it there after the move. The move. Her useless lie came spiraling back into the forefront of her mind.

They had been seeing each other for nearly a year. It would be a full year officially on fucking Valentine’s Day. The idea of it still made her roll her eyes, but gave her a strange sentimentality for the Hallmark-fueled holiday she never had before. He had asked her to move in with him a few weeks earlier. Rather, he asked her not to renew her lease, which would be up at the end of January. Ice clattered against the glass as she swirled the liquid around in it. She wondered what he was doing.

He hadn’t said much about what he was doing. Something about seeing Bill and his daughter maybe. The only thing she could definitively remember him saying was that he was going to leave as soon as any argument broke out between the father and daughter. Usually about her girlfriend, who he insisted was not as bad as Bill made her out to be. There was something funny in imagining him trying to nonchalantly scoot out of his best friend’s house but continuously getting pulled back into the argument as they tried to get him to choose a side.

Her eyes drifted back up to the TV. A ten second timer had appeared in the middle of the screen. The countdown felt endless. Like time was dragging on. Almost as if the timer would get stuck and everything would freeze in that moment forever. She thought about having joined him at Bill’s. There would have been no booze, and they probably would have gotten roped into several tedious rounds of Scattergories. It would have been the first New Years since before high school that she would have spent sober. 

But a little part of her was sure she would have been fine and enjoyed herself despite her distaste for terrible board games. He would have rested a hand on her knee. Her back. Her waist. Her own hand. She would have been introduced as his girlfriend. Bill and his daughter’s girlfriend would be vaguely familiar. Maybe they stopped by Beanies frequently enough. The timer hit zero. If she had been with him, he would have kissed her at the stroke of midnight. They would have been back at his house, sitting on the couch with the volume on the TV. The dumb arguments would have made a great opportunity for her to complain about not feeling well, and they would have snuck out, high fiving back at the car. Ryan Seacrest would have been shouting the countdown along with the crowd. It would have been her first New Years kiss. She would have called him a nerd and then kissed him again. Instead, she took another swig of her drink.

She imagined what Jane would have said. Probably scolded her for being too stubborn to let herself get close to people.  _ For god’s sake, Emma, you’re moving in with the damn guy. What’s so bad about spending New Years with his friends and him? _ There wasn’t anything wrong with it. The commitment just made her skin crawl. Like her stomach was about to throw itself up. Not that it was all that much of a commitment. There was no good reason she could think of for the fear that rose up in her because, when it all boiled down, it was fear that had spurred her stupid lie.

The thing was, though, Paul was the least scary person she had ever met. He was patient and far too nice to her. She really hoped that once she lived with him he’d dish it back a little because he really took the digs in stride. Sure, he was a little goofy and a bit anal about his house, but none of that was even remotely intimidating. He was awkward and still needed to be coaxed sometimes into remotely sexual things. Nervous always. That she didn’t really want it. That she wouldn’t want him. Just nervous. Paul was always nervous. An anxious doofus who looked at her like she was the whole world. Not a single thing that would have made literally anyone else terrified.

It could have been the fact that she was in love with him. A fact that had been ruminating in her mind since the summer. He almost said it one night in bed before she stopped him. Her own anxiety had come out to play. No one had ever told her they loved her. At least romantically. That was how she liked it. Simple. Love complicated things. They made people do stupid impulsive things. Like making someone tell their boyfriend they were going to someone’s New Years party when they were just going to be sitting at home rather than going to said boyfriend’s friend’s house for a little get together. 

The whole thing was silly. She loved him and couldn’t say it out loud. He admitted to being in love with her when she got him drunk. The words made her heart flutter in her chest, despite her wishing they fucking wouldn’t. He probably wondered if she even loved him back. And god, did she ever love him back. Realistically, if she really was honest with herself, the moment he admitted that the Sycamore Timberwolves hated themselves when they chatted at the edge of the bar at Mercer’s she was hooked. She wouldn’t tell him but it was the best Valentine’s Day she ever had.

Jane would have eaten this shit up. That’s for fucking sure.

Her thumb toyed with the peeling bit of tape at the top of the box.  _ ‘Emma’ _ was sloppily written on one of the top flaps. Likely Tom’s handwriting. The box was about as big as a shoebox. Lightweight. Something rattled inside when she moved it. Jane would have been disappointed that it had stayed sealed for three whole years. “Fuck it,” she mumbled, shotgunning the rest of her drink. She rested her glass on another box that sat beside the couch. 

The tape peeled easily, tearing up bits of cardboard with it as she pulled it up and off. She took a deep breath in. One last mystery of Jane disappearing right in front of her. Her hands gripped the top flaps, holding her breath for one more second. She didn’t know what she expected to happen when she opened it, but it wasn’t that she would laugh. Two poorly constructed twine skeletons were right on top. “No fucking way, J,” she chuckled, lifting one up. Purple and green. The purple one had been Jane’s. Her favorite color for… forever really was purple. The green was Emma because, much like her adult self, she didn’t really give a shit about the color as a kid, so she ended up with green. 

A smattering of polaroid photos. The first of the two of them at roughly ages thirteen and fourteen. Jane wore a spaghetti strap dress with sandals that had just a bit of a platform to them. She was covered in glitter and had an array of butterfly clips holding her hair back. Emma, on the other hand, was in a pair of mid-thigh jean shorts, cuffed at the bottoms, that were far too big for her, held up by a black fabric belt. A white tank top that appeared to be stained and a maroon and black flannel shirt. Half of her hair was down, two buns on either side of her head for the other half. Completely blacked out Converse. They both smiled widely at the camera. Jane looked directly at the camera with her arms raised in the air. Emma gave an awkward thumbs up.

There had to be a dozen more pictures, a Lisa Frank notebook, and a stack of white printer paper with frayed edges. She was about to delve deeper into the mystery of the box when there was a knock at her door. Her eyes glanced at the clock on the cable box. 12:26. Why did she even pay for cable? She didn’t even watch much TV. A moment’s silence went by. Nothing. Maybe someone was drunk and made a mistake. Then her doorbell rang.

When she stood up, the alcohol hit her. It was some combination of vodka, tequila, rum, orange juice, and cranberry juice. Whatever she had lying around the house really. Some sort of poor man’s jungle juice made from scraps. She gathered herself before bending over to collect the dolls and photo she had taken out of the box and returned the box to the floor in front of the couch. Upon straightening up again, she scrubbed a hand over her face, attempting to not fall over. 

The walk from her beat up old couch to the door couldn’t have been more than sixty feet. Her place really was small and a rip off for the rent she was paying each month. It made more sense to move in with him. If anything she could have a little more financial stability. Standing on her toes, she peered one eye through the peephole. A feature she quite liked being a young woman living alone. Especially when people were knocking on her door at twelve thirty AM on New Years day.

An involuntary gasp left her. She pulled the chain loose from the door and unlocked the bolt lock before allowing the cold winter air into the apartment. “What are you doing here?” she asked a bundled up Paul who was standing on her doorstep. In that moment, she was suddenly self conscious about her appearance. A ratty old t-shirt and a pair of old gym shorts. Hair down and a mess. She was sure he had seen her worse. He did see her the morning after Halloween, which was not pretty. But she was nervous about it for whatever reason nonetheless. “I thought you were at Bill’s.”

He shrugged. His coat was old. At least it looked that way. Navy blue, missing a few buttons, fraying at the pockets. A burgundy scarf hung around his shoulders. His face was pink from the cold. “Bill and Alice started at each other’s throats, so I got the hell out of dodge. Then I stopped by Melissa’s, and she said you weren’t there.” He held up both of his hands. One held a plastic bag with a paper one inside. The other was one that clearly held a bottle and cans in it. “So I picked up some Thai food and--” he peeked into the one bag, “--some bourbon and an ale with a really cool label.” He looked back up at her with a small smile. “I thought I might find you at home and figured you might want company. Or maybe take out and booze, and then you can just ignore me if you want.”

Where the fuck did this dork come from? Directly from the heavens? Was she fucking dreaming? “Why’d you come, though?” she asked. Her intention wasn’t for it to sound accusatory or offended, but the slight sag in his shoulders told her that’s exactly how it came across.

“I’m sorry. I could just leave this stuff here and head--”

“No,” she interjected, holding her hands up as a signal for him to stop. “I just… how’d you know to come here?” He shrugged again. The tips of his ears were tinged pink from the frigid January air. “Jesus, get in here. I’m sorry.” She moved to the side of the doorway, so he could come in. The door shut behind him, but the slight chill remained. 

He walked in as if he had been there a million times before and placed the bags on the tiny table she had set up behind the couch. His eyes wandered around her less messy but still not clean apartment. Everything was in more chaos than usual as she tried to decide what to pack, what to give away, and what to just chuck. “Melissa was totally wasted,” he commented as he took his jack and scarf off. “Also the Thai place was the only place open that wasn’t Dominos, so I hope that’s okay.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “Yeah, that’s fine,” she sighed, unsure why she was feeling so tongue-tied. It was just him. The same doofus that was standing across from her with his hands hanging limp by his sides, not certain of what to do with his hands. “Thanks, Paul.”

A smile touched his lips. Their eyes met, and that felt electric. Like something had just been plugged into a socket and roared to life. “Oh yeah, by the way,” he started, closing the few feet of distance between them. Before she could even get a word in, his hands were on her cheeks, pulling her into a soft kiss. Tender. Gentle. The kind of kiss that could bring her to tears, but she wasn’t drunk enough to be that vulnerable. Her hands found his arms, resting gently on them as she leaned into his lips. Every kiss felt like the first. Exciting and fun. Sad when it was over. He pulled away, and when she opened her eyes, he was staring down at her. “Happy New Year, Em.”

A smirk found its way onto her mouth. Her hand laid on top of one of his. “Em? That’s a new one, huh?” she asked with a breathy chuckle. She liked when he smiled at her, although it made it more tempting to just pull him back down to her.

“Do you mind?” he responded, voice curious. The grin remained on his face. Full teeth and all.

“You bought me bourbon after I ditched you on New Years, and you bought me middle of the night dinner. You can do whatever the fuck you want, boy.” He let out a laugh while pulling her into a hug. She buried her face in his chest. The scent of his laundry detergent and deodorant filled her senses. It smelled like waking up in the morning in his bed, wrapped up in him. Legs tangled. Skin on skin. Soft mindless kisses. “Thanks for coming… I, um… yeah, thanks.”

His hand ran down her back. “Anytime,” he said. “But if you just need time alone, you can just tell me next time, okay? I do think you and Deb would have gotten along, but that’s not the point. You’ve got to do what’s good for you, and if that’s hanging out by yourself on New Years, that’s okay.” She wrapped her arms tight around his middle. Her eyes squeezed shut, willing the lump rising in her throat to go away. God, he wasn’t even angry. What the fuck kind of alien was this man? “Give me the heads up next time, okay?”

She nodded. “Okay,” she mumbled into his shirt.

“Okay,” he repeated, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

And that’s exactly what it was: okay.


	35. Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma have an argument that gets a little out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a few days, but here we are. With some FRIGGEN ANGST, FRIENDS.

The best way to describe the air in the kitchen as they put dinner together was tense. Emma stood at the island, chopping away at different vegetables. Onions. Tomatoes. Lettuce. Knife thumping over and over against the wooden cutting board. Rhythmic taps combining in the air with the crackling of something frying on the stove and the softs hums from Eli in his highchair beside her. Paul manned the pan on the front burner, occasionally glancing over his shoulder as if he hoped she would be looking back at him. 

“Paul, make sure you’re not overcooking the meat,” she mentioned without looking up from the cutting board. Her voice was hard. Stern. Cold.

He sighed, facing the stove while pushing the taco meat around in the large pan before him. “I’m not,” he replied. There was no glance over his shoulder this time. The only thing he could picture seeing was her staring back at him angrily.

Closing the space between them, she stood beside him and dumped half of the diced onion into the pan to cook along with the meat. “Well, you usually do, so… don’t,” she stated. There was no playful tinge to her voice. No teasing glint in her eye. In fact, she wouldn’t even look up at him. Simply dropped the onions and went. “Make sure the onions get incorporated in there.”

“I know, Emma,” he answered, snippier than he had intended. A mistake.

“Well,  _ Paul,” _ she began as she separated the remaining items on the cutting board into separate bowls. “I just want to make sure dinner doesn’t get fucked up.”

His shoulders sagged. “Em, I don’t want to do this right now,” he mumbled, pushing the ground beef and onions around in the pan. Being sure everything was well incorporated. Not wanting to get an earful later on.

The day ideally should have been nice. They had both taken a half day from work, taking part of that afternoon to get a quick bite to eat for lunch. The meal had been fine. Light laughs. Small jabs at one another. Fond glances. Lingering smiles. Valentine’s Day specials were offered. Bottomless mimosas, which they politely declined. Although, they did indulge in the half priced chocolate lava cake dessert. She had been adamant about how good it sounded from the moment she looked at the menu. 

Truthfully, they weren’t there to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Something they never really celebrated in the first place. It was just a holiday created to sell chocolate and greeting cards. And also to make people feel guilty for treating their partners like shit during the rest of the year. No, they did not celebrate Valentine's Day, but they did sit over their respective lunches, throwing out a list of names back and forth over the table. Things were good like they usually ended up being. 

She handed a piece of yellow bell pepper to Eli, which he greedily took and shoved directly into his mouth. “You never want to do anything now, Paul,” she commented, not skipping a beat. Not looking at him. Not sounding amused in the slightest. “I think that’s a big part of your problem.”

“Emma,” he warned. His grip on the wooden spoon tightened. “We can talk about this later.”

“Yeah, well, we never do end up doing that, do we?” she challenged, walking over to the refrigerator to pull out a can of seltzer. He looked over to her. Jaw tight. Eyes focused on the fridge. Brow furrowed. “Maybe if you just fucking talked about things, you wouldn’t--”

“Don’t do that.” The refrigerator slammed shut. “That isn’t fair, and you know it.”

She finally looked at him. Their eyes met in a flurry of hurt and rage. Meeting somewhere between them in an explosion of emotion. He was afraid of that. “How would I know?” she snapped at him. “How exactly would I know, Paul? You don’t fucking tell me anything.”

The hand at his side, squeezed in and out of a fist. “Stop swearing in front of Eli,” he decided on as a response, avoiding the subject altogether. When in doubt: evade, evade, evade. It was what he always did. Things always went easier when he buried the feelings in the sand. 

A choked yet sarcastic snort left her lips. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, cracking her seltzer open. “You are unbelievable.” She walked back over to the cutting board to retrieve another piece of pepper for Eli. “I can’t believe you think that this is going to be over like that. Sorry,  _ bub, _ that chance ended when you--”

“Emma, please--”

_ “‘Emma, please’,” _ she mocked. He could feel the pressure rising in his head. “Come on, Paul. You can’t just go… fucking hiding shit from me and expect it to be okay. I’m not just going to let it go, so you better-”

“Emma, enough!” She wasn’t sure she had ever heard him raise his voice in any other context except for being drunk and joking around. This was different. Solid. Dark. Chilled. He slammed his fist down on the counter beside him. “I… don’t want to do this right now.”

“Well, fucko, you just put yourself right in the middle of it.”

“Just fucking stop,” he hissed, turning around to face her. His face was bright red, eyes narrowed to look at her. “Stop fucking antagonizing me. I don’t want to fight with you right now. I don’t know what your goddamn deal is with this is, but I don’t want any part of it.”

She threw her free hand up exasperatedly. “Really?” she barked with a bitter laugh in her throat. “You don’t fucking know? The fact that you  _ lied _ to me is my ‘goddamn deal’, Paul. What else do you think the issue would be? The fact that dessert wasn’t really half fucking off. Give me a break. You know exactly what the issue is.”

“I never lied to you,” he shot back immediately. “I  _ never _ lied to you. Don’t you fucking say that.”

“Oh, so all the times I asked if you were happy and you said--”

“God dammit, Emma!” he shouted, once again raising his voice. The shout was deep and full-bodied. Like every annoyance he had accumulated through the past few years was coming to the surface. “You know that’s not it! Stop making me into a fucking.. villain!”

“Well, then, pray tell, Paul,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “Enlighten me as to why you would omit something that’s pretty fucking important?” He balled his hands into fists at his sides, squeezing his eyes shut. A bitter chuckle came through the air. “Of fucking course this is how--”

“Have you ever taken a goddamn second to think about what I’m fucking feeling?” he pressed, eyes still closed. “About this whole fucking thing? You ever think about that? Hm? Maybe I’m ashamed because my dad--”

“Don’t bring your father into this. This has nothing to do with him. This is between you and me.” His eyes sprung open. One of his eyelids began to twitch.

“You say you want to hear what I was fucking thinking, yet you keep interrupting me!” he hollered as he threw his hands up in the air. “What’s the real story, Emma? Do you really care, or do you just like to hear yourself talk?” Her mouth opened to reply to him. “You really don’t have a fucking clue on how to handle any kind of situation that involves and iota of sensitivity. Did you ever think that maybe that’s why I wouldn’t tell you? You’d get all defensive and claim I was lying about--”

“How could you say you’re happy when--”

“Because I’ve dealt with clinical fucking depression my entire fucking life!” He had taken one big step toward her, hands raised for emphasis. “It’s just some fucking shit I deal with on my own because that’s what I’ve always done, and yeah, it makes some things hard. But for the most part I’ve got it under fucking control!” Bending down to be at eye level with her, he squinted at her stunned face. “Did it ever go through your thick skull to think that I might be fucking  _ ashamed _ that my brain is fucking broken? That I spent a ton of years just wanting to be dead for no reason other than I just couldn’t feel… anything? It’s not something I’m going to shout from the rooftops! ‘Oh yeah, hey world! Hey, girl I couldn’t even shut my inner monologue down long enough to ask for your name! I’m on fucking drugs to help my brain work right, so I don’t throw myself off a fucking bridge!’”

She had opened up the center console in his car as they drove home from lunch, looking for a piece of gum, but instead, she found a small paper bag with a CVS logo on the back. Before he was able to tell her to stop, she was opening up the bag and staring at the small orange bottle in her hand.  _ Paul Matthews. 6 Willow Court Hachetfield, MA 02472. Generic equivalent of: Wellbutrin XL. Burpropion XL 300 MG. Take 1 tablet by mouth every morning. _ She asked him what it was. He didn’t answer. She asked again. He hesitantly told her.

“I’ve been… so  _ fucked _ up since I was a little goddamn kid!” he continued, voice continuing to gain volume. “I don’t fucking know! Maybe I’d be fine now. Maybe all I fucking needed was the wife and the kid and the house! Who fucking knows? Maybe I’m fucked--”

“Paul.”

“Maybe I’m fucked up because somewhere along the line my parents or their parents were fucked up too! All goddamn broken and not able to do what normal humans do. I mean, you’ve seen them! That isn’t normal!” His hands fell to his sides. Eyes dropping to the floor. “Then our kids are just going to be fucked up and broken, and it’s my fault because my shit isn’t together! I just don’t--”

“Paul!” His gaze snapped back up to her. There was ringing in his ears. No, not ringing. Eli was wailing. “Just… hold on.” She turned around and scooped him out of the high chair, whispering soft comforting words into his ear. Watery brown eyes stared back at Paul. Sadness. Shock. Fear. He knew that look. He could feel it somewhere deep down inside himself. Tears. Panic. His father looming over him. 

He backed up until he hit the counter by the stove, eyes wide. His hands ran through his hair. The room suddenly was burning hot. Like the raging breaths on his face, lashing him with every single thing he did wrong. His tongue felt like cotton. Like his bedsheets he clung to after having been verbally decimated. Everything was spinning. The air felt thin. His lungs were heavy. It felt like he was drowning in the middle of their kitchen. He slid down to sit on the floor.

“Ah, shit,” she murmured to herself as she crossed the room and flipped the knob to turn the stove off. Another quick motion to turn the overhead fan on as a small amount of smoke began to rise from the pan. Her eyes fell on him, hands in his hair. Staring out at nothing with wide eyes. Breaths short and pained. “Paul?”

She sounded like she was a million miles away.

“Paul?”

She had dropped down in front of him, the baby still crying in her arms, but everything felt blurry.

“Paul? Hey, come on.” Her hand was cool against his cheek. Sweat was pouring down his face. No, not sweat. Just his cheeks. His eyes shifted to her. The expression on her face had transformed from being twisted with anger and resentment to being painted with intense worry. “Paul, hey. Keep looking here, okay?” He just stared. “Give me a little nod if you hear me.” The ringing in his head had returned, and she sounded like she was underwater. But he could just barely make out what she was saying. “Okay, listen, you’re okay. Okay?” He shook his head. “Yes, you are. I’ve got you, okay?" The baby howled in her ear. "Jesus… Paul… hang on for me, okay?"

Soft speaking and sniffles. "Daddy yelling," Eli whimpered into her shoulder. She bounced him in her arms gently, whispering something into his ear. His eyes remained trained on Paul while she spoke. Watching him carefully and cautiously. What had he done? He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Breaths came sporadically. Painful. Difficult. Something she said made Eli turn to look at her curiously. She nodded and tucked a stray curl behind his ear. He looked back to Paul, wiping his eyes with the back of his little hand before using that same hand to wave.

When she turned around, she could see he was still hyperventilating, eyes darting around. She lowered herself and Eli to the floor beside him again. "Hey, come on, big guy," she whispered, reaching out to touch his cheek again. "You've got to breathe for me, okay?" His breaths continued. Stecatto. Heavy. Staggered. "Not like that. Come on. In. Out. In." He inhaled sharply. Holding the breath for one… two… three. "Out." The breath came out shaky and uncertain. "Good. Hey, look at me." His eyes moved up to her. "You know what today is?" He shrugged and felt his breathing speed up again. "In and out. Keep doing that." In and out. His entire body felt like it was rising and falling with each breath in and out. Like everything was becoming a steady tide against an uncertain shore. "We went on our first date seven years ago today."

It was cold again. February was usually cold, but the day they technically first met was warm even with the rain. She dropped her apron. He picked it up and washed it. Ted made him talk to her. She teased him even then but still asked him out on a date. Of course she asked him. Couldn’t even muster up the balls to even ask her out. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“You were awkward and didn’t want to talk to me for whatever reason. You had a hard time even looking at me, but I get it you’re a nervous guy. You told me you went to Sycamore and that the Timberwolves hated themselves. I think that’s the funniest joke you’ve made to date.” A hint of a smile cracked through on his face. She let out a relieved sigh. “Yep, we stayed all fucking night at that place.” Her attention turned to Eli briefly. “We don’t say naughty words outside of the house, okay?” Eli smiled and gave what was intended to be a nod. She looked back to Paul. “We stayed there until they kicked us out. Then you walked me out to my car even though I said not to, but we just started walking and talking and ended up there. Can I tell you a secret about that night?”

“Okay,” he croaked, barely above a whisper.

“When I leaned in that night, I was hoping you’d take the fucking hint and kiss me, but you gave me the most awkward hug I’ve ever gotten.” Her fingers grazed along his cheek, eyes scanning his face. He could picture her sitting beside him at the edge of the bar. Laughing at his stupid jokes. Leaning into him on occasion. That same hand reaching out to slap him on the chest when she was making a point. If he hadn’t already been hopelessly in love with her at that point, he would have been after that first date. “Then today we found out we’re going to have a little girl.”

His heart raced again. Different this time around. Excited almost. She had been laid up on that same table she had been a couple of years earlier. Cool goo smeared over a whisper of a bump on her stomach. Grey and black and white speckles all over the screen. A head. An arm. A leg.  _ Do you want to know the gender? _ He had. Very much so.  _ Girl. _ He dreamt about her, half expecting Eli to pop out a girl instead of a boy. A mistake in reading the ultrasound. But he wasn’t. Eli was a beautiful truth. A bright spot in his day every single day.

Eli’s clammy hand reached out and touched his arm tentatively. Careful and light. “We went on a date seven years ago, and now we’re going to have two kids. How fucking nuts is that?” she chuckled softly, trying desperately to keep her voice light. “Paul, you’re okay. I promise you’re okay.”

He reached up to rest his hand on hers. Everything was all pins and needles. His skin. His breath. His brain. But she was still there. Sitting there. Looking at him. Directly at him. Into his eyes. Past them. Into the soul he maybe had. He was still on the fence about that. The dreams were the only things making him question it. Seeing them in different times. In different ways. The only thing that was the same was her. She was there, and he loved her every time. “I’m sorry,” he managed to get out. He was crying. “I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t mean to say those things about you… and to you. I’m--”

“It’s okay,” she responded, but he questioned whether or not she really meant it. “I’m a little thick and don’t let you talk. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for egging you on.” She paused a moment. He could have sworn there were tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry for whatever I did to make you feel like you couldn’t talk to me.”

“No… It’s not.. It’s me. Not you. I don’t know what I thought… I didn’t. Then when I finally thought I was ready to talk about it, it was so late in the game… I didn’t want you to be upset that I took so long. Now here we are, and I fucked up again. I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t--”

“Hey.” His eyes had wandered somewhere else. Distant. Vacant. Things felt like they were starting to spin again. The cool press of her palm against his cheek was anchoring him, so he couldn’t fly away in a flurry again. “What’s done is done, okay?” He nodded. “Good. No more secrets, though, okay? We’re all team Matthews here, alright?” He chuckled, tears spilling from his eyes. He couldn’t remember when he started crying, but the sadness was flowing down his face. “Even those of us without that name.” She patted his cheek, looking directly into his eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And I do care about how you’re feeling. You know that right?” Her voice was earnest. The tone hit him straight in the gut. When the words had left his lips, he was angry. Frustrated with her. With himself. With his fucking head. He didn’t even mean them. Not fully at least. She did like to interrupt and talk over him sometimes, but he was used to it. At the end of the day, she always heard him out. Why did he even say that? “I do. I don’t want you to think that I just don’t give a shit, Paul. I really do. I give a lot of shits.”

“I know. I don’t know why I said that,” he rattled off, words quickening. Her thumb ran along his cheek. “I’m sorry… and I really like hearing you talk. Please… don’t stop talking.”

“Fat chance, buddy,” she replied with a half-hearted chuckle. “You married this mouth. Now, you’re stuck with it.” Another touch of a smile hit his lips. She was good at that. Making him smile. Bringing some flavor of levity into any situation. He loved that about her. “Let’s just… talk about the big things before they turn into that. I… didn’t like  _ whoever  _ that was. I’m sorry for pushing that out of you.”

“Okay,” he whispered. That was a person he had never seen in himself either. He had gotten angry before, but never like that. Never screaming and seething. Nothing that would ever make him think of his father. That’s who it was, too. It was entirely the building rage that he would see piling up in an evening with his father. Something he didn’t know was in him. Something he feared himself. He couldn’t let it out again. His own son’s eyes had been filled with the same frightened light he knew all too well. “I’m so sorry.”

“Listen, it happens,” she assured him. “I’m sorry for pushing you too far.” 

They sat in silence for a moment. The smell of food wrapped around them. Cold tacos. Maybe burnt too. He couldn’t be sure. She was there, though. A hand still on his face. Eli in her arms, wriggling to get away from her. When she did finally let him go, he plowed into Paul’s chest. “Daddy,” he mumbled into Paul’s shirt, little arms wrapping around his middle. Paul lowered his hand from hers and rested it on Eli’s back. “No yelling. Scary.” He could feel his heart breaking in his chest.

“Don’t worry too much, Paul,” she commented. “I told him you weren’t really mad. Just talking too loud.” She ran a hand through Eli’s hair. Her eyebrows shot up, another small sad smile on her face. “Hey, it took you this long to have one of those bad boys on me. That’s pretty good.”

“How did you--”

“Jane,” she answered simply, fingers still twirling around Eli’s curled. “She used to have emotional breakdowns every other semester at school. Mom and Dad told her to suck it up, but later she’d be curled up in a sad ball, freaking the fuck out. That left me to try and help her. A little trial and error, but I got there.” Her words faded off into nothingness. She was thinking about what Jane would have done when she stopped answering the phone. How she dealt with it. Who was there for her. “She said it helped her to talk about things that kept her… engaged a little more, I guess. Thought it might work for you, too.”

“It did… it was really good. You were… amazing, Em. Thank you.”

“Anytime, kid,” she said as she caught his gaze again. “No more fucking secrets, though. You’ve seen me shit on a table while pushing a fucking baby out of my cooch.” A genuine laugh croaked out of his throat. She patted his cheek. “No more secrets.”

“No more secrets,” he agreed as he hoisted Eli up to be able to wrap his arms around his neck. Eli smelled of honey and baby powder. Like he had already had a bath, which Paul was sure he hadn’t. It was just a comforting scent he seemed to have. At least in that moment. Paul pressed a soft kiss against the top of Eli’s head. The image of his eyes wide with fear and tears. Screams carrying through the kitchen. Fading somewhere between his own shouting and the ringing in his ears. “I can’t shit on a table to make it up to you.”

“Not with that fucking attitude you can’t.”

He spat out another laugh. “Emma, come on.”

“Made you laugh, though,” she replied, a grin peeking over her lips. She reached out and grabbed the hand that wasn’t holding Eli up. He could feel the stones of her engagement ring pressing into his palm as she rubbed her thumb over his fingers, taking close care over his wedding band. “Hey, everything is going to be okay. Okay?”

Another weak smile found its way to his face. “Okay.”

“Okay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a few things I want to address: I've just put Hatchetfield in Massachusetts because of the reference to the Nantucket bridge in TGWDLM. I don't know if that is a real zip code for a real town, but I just put a bunch of numbers together.
> 
> I also would like to delve a little more into the mental health thing because Paul makes me really sad AND I'M FEELING A LITTLE EMOTIONAL RIGHT NOW.
> 
> Also!!! Another baby!!!


	36. Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul spend a spring evening outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to respond to comments in the morning I think because I'm zonked as all get out, but I'm so glad that you all seemed to respond well to the last bit. It was a big emotional release to write, so it means a lot that you all have had such lovely things to say about it <3
> 
> Also here's some plotless fluff.
> 
> Edit: I responded to the comments. Oops.
> 
> Also I'm realizing that Hatchetfield is very likely canonically in Michigan, but I've had it on the east coast in my silly little brain and can't picture it anywhere else. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ So we'll just say we're in such an alternate universe the town has literally moved locations.

“What does Mama say?” They sat out on the patio. Emma laid out across the bench swing with her legs bent to make sure Paul had enough room to fit. Eli sat in his lap, squishing up his face at her question. A gentle spring breeze blew over them as the sun set on the horizon. An explosion of blue and yellow and pink. April had very quickly ushered in a pleasant spring so far. Warm enough to enjoy the outdoors. Cool enough that it wasn’t hot as balls outside. 

Eli bounced in Paul’s lap. “Mama says Daddy’s nerd,” he snickered and poked at Paul’s chin.

“You’re a bad influence,” he commented as he reached over the side of the swing to grab his beer bottle. She stuck her tongue out at him, eliciting another laugh out of Eli. With a roll of his eyes, Paul turned his attention to the boy in his lap. “What’s your name, buddy?”

“Eeeee-lieeeee-jah!”

“You nailed it, dude! Gimme some skin,” she cheered, leaning in to lift her hand up to Eli. Happily, he smacked his small hand against hers. “And Eli, what makes you happy?”

“Happy!” he repeated, looking up at Paul as if he was going to get some confirmation on his answer.

“Yeah, happy. What makes you happy, bud?” Paul reiterated with a big dumb grin plastered on his face.

Eli pursed his lips together while patting his hands on his legs. “Dinner!” he decided on, patting his belly with a proud smile on his face. “Mmm!”

“Dinner makes me happy, too, E,” she agreed. She leaned back against the arm of the bench, folding her hands over her belly. It was quickly growing in size and shape. The months were slowly ticking by. It would be July before they knew it. “What makes you sad?”

His answer was far quicker this time around. “Mama going t’work,” he explained with eyes cast downward like he was thinking about those days of the week. A small but bright smile came across his features. “But den I get Hammy. Hammy’s silly.”

Despite Paul’s reservations about Hidgens watching Eli, the old man seemed to be a perfect fit for babysitter. Eli never came home hungry or upset. There were always stories he would babble on about mostly hyperbolically. When Paul would pick Eli up on occasion, he always caught Eli waving out at Hidgens from the backseat, whispering  _ ‘byeeee, Hammy’ _ to himself. The two seemed to get on famously, and in all honesty, they probably had the professor to thank for the tremendous language skills Eli had picked up. Eli might as well have been another adult in the room to Hidgens, speaking in large, much more advanced words. Every time he asked, though, Hidgens would explain to Eli what a word meant. Carefully and thoroughly. It was just the grandfatherly interaction that Paul’s own father would never be able to give. Needless to say, his reservations had long since dissipated. 

“He sure is something, that Hammy,” Paul said, glancing over to Emma whose eyebrows were raised, amused at his comment. “What… makes you laugh?”

“Danis!” Another quick response. It was a name that came out often and took them an embarrassingly long amount of time to figure out who it was. Until a fluffy tail came around the corner while Emma was putting him into bed one night. Janis hadn’t shown much interest in the baby for a long time. Walter loved him from day one. Couldn’t be around him enough. Always by his side everywhere he went. Janis, on the other hand, couldn’t have been bothered to give less of a shit. Or so they thought. That night, she found Janis hopped up into the bed with Eli and curled right up next to him as if they were spooning.  _ “Okay, Mama. Danis is ready for story too!” _ Janis purred and looked up to Emma, eyes saying ‘yeah, lady, bring on the fucking bedtime story’. “Me-ow, me-ow, me-ow!” he imitated the cats with eyes locked on Emma.

When she laughed, he smiled wider, showing off his nearly full set of teeth. “Janis is a funny lady, I’ll give ya that one,” she replied as she shifted in her seat slightly. “How old are you?” He tapped his finger on his chin for a moment as he thought about her question. Then he shot two fingers up in the air, which he thrust in her direction. “Yeah, that’s right, and how many is that?”

“Two!”

“Awesome, Eli,” Paul commended, tousling the growing mop of hair on top of Eli’s head. “How old is Mama?”

She leaned in and lowered her voice. “This is going to be a trick question for a lot of people, E. I’ll still love you no matter what, but some people are going to get pissed if you make them old,” she warned. Her words ended in a smile, which he happily returned.

“Mama’s twenty… circle.”

Paul covered his mouth to keep the laugh in. “Mama’s twenty circle?” he questioned once he got himself under control. Eli nodded seriously. Paul’s eyes turned to her. “I guess we’re celebrating your twenty square birthday this year.”

“Listen, if I don’t get at least one twenty square-themed card, I’ll throw all your stuff out on the lawn.”

“How could I forget the twenty square birthday? It’s such a milestone.”

A smirk appeared on her face, no matter how hard she tried to hold it back. “Smartass,” she muttered under her breath before looking back at Eli. “How old is Daddy?”

Another pause for thought. Eli’s nose pinched again. “I dunno. Daddies are five,” he guessed with a tiny shrug.

“All of them?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, further evidence that Mama is robbing the cradle,” Paul piped up, miming taking note of this revelation on an invisible sheet of paper. She rolled her eyes but allowed a chuckle out. “What’s your favorite thing to do?”

“Fish!”

“E, you can’t do fish. What’s your favorite thing to do?”

“Cookies!”

“You can’t do cookies either, buddy.”

“Eat cookies!”

“There we go! We’ve struck gold!” she announced, holding her hands up in the air with him triumphantly. “Okay… who’s your best friend, Eli?”

There was no beat to be had. The answer came right away. “Papi,” he said, rising to his feet. Paul’s hand reached out to spot him from behind. “Papi! Papi!”

With raised eyebrows, Paul smiled at him. Not the broad grin from earlier. Another look completely. Softer. Almost awe-filled. “Yeah, buddy?” he laughed while little hands patted his cheeks. “Not Mama?”

“No, Papi!”

She watched on fondly. It was okay. She didn’t need the verbal validation to know that Eli loved her. That was in every wet kiss and tight hug he gave her. Every spontaneous phone call she would get on the days she was in the office from Hidgens with an excited voice on the other end. Each time he ran up to her while she worked from home, climbed up, grabbed her by the cheeks, and said  _ “I love you, Mama” _ out of nowhere before running away giggling. She could let Paul have the best friend position. Especially with the look of complete adoration on his face.

“Hey, E,” she called. Eli’s head snapped in her direction. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“Tall,” he stated simply.

“Me, too, man,” she agreed. Paul laughed at the interaction, tossing his head back into the air behind the swing. “What are you really good at?”

Eli thought about his answer for a moment. Mentally going through his limited rolodex of words to describe what he wanted to say. “Eating mac and cheese,” he decided. “And stomp!”

“You are a good stomper, you little comedian,” Paul concurred, hand following behind Eli’s back as he plopped back down onto his lap. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Hmmm… cookies!”

“We don’t even have cookies that much. What’s your real favorite?”

“Hmmm… pizza!”

“You do like pizza, you little pizza monster,” she commented as she reached to her side to pick up her can of seltzer. After taking a sip, she rested the bottom of the can on what she was referring to as her ‘personal TV tray’. The thought behind it was if she was going to have a protruding stomach she might as well use it to her advantage. “What’s your favorite song?”

Eli grinned and looked up at Paul like they were plotting something. Paul immediately glanced over to her with a shrug. “I’mmmmmmm sooorrrrrrrrryyyyyy,” Eli sang out of tune, she assumed. “Oh-ho-ho-ho I’m sah-ah-ah-ah-ahrrrryyyyyy.”

“Oh my god,” Paul chuckled, hand coming up and pinching the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses. “That’s Morrissey.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you’re allowing our kid to listen to Morrissey?”

“What?  _ Suedehead _ is a great song.”

“Okay, buddy, what does Daddy say?”

Eli giggled and threw his hand over his eyes. “‘Oh my god,’” he said in an attempt to make his voice sound deeper. He peeked out from under his hand to find her in hysterics, and Paul trying to hold back from breaking into his own bout of uncontrollable laughter. “‘Tad eats stinky lunch.’”

“Oh my g…” Paul began to say but the words died on his tongue while she stared him down, hoping he would do the exact thing Eli had just mimicked. “Jeez, Eli, you’re doing me dirty here, guy.” Nothing but laughter rang out from both Eli and Emma. Paul couldn’t hold back the smile. “Alright, alright… what’s your favorite animal?”

“Turtles!”

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

“Turtles?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay then,” he conceded, holding in hands up in defeat. “What are your thoughts on the American healthcare system?”

“Holy crap,” she guffawed. “Paul, come on.”

“Hmm… fish!”

Nodding his head thoughtfully, Paul ran a hand through Eli’s hair. “A very interesting take, buddy. I like where your head’s at, though. Here’s a tough one: what’s your… favorite color?” he asked dramatically. 

Eli burst into a fit of giggles, burrowing into Paul’s chest. “Yellow and red and purpa,” he murmured from Paul’s t-shirt.

“Red  _ and _ yellow  _ and _ purple? Wow, those are all great,” she commented. She took a sharp breath in, and for a moment, Paul’s expression turned to one of concern. Waving him off, she continued, “I just got kicked in the lung is all. No worries.” She looked at Eli with a newfound smile on her face. “Alright, let’s see if you remember, bud. What is love?”

Eli’s face went blank for a second, unsure of what the question she asked meant. Because love was so many things to him. Love was when Daddy got home and scooped him up to ask him how his day was. Or when he and Hammy would dance around in the big room with the piano. Or when Ah-liss would read him stories from big books about princesses and animals. Or when Mama shared the food she was making when he would ask for a bite even if she knew he wouldn’t like it much. But none of those were the answer. He knew what the answer was. His head perked up. “Beebee, dome hurt me!”

“Oh, and I’m doing something wrong by listening to music I like with him.”

“Come on, that was funny, Papi. Admit it.” Paul grumbled something to himself that sounded similar to him agreeing with what she had said without actually saying the words. “Oh, you freaking sour grape. Hey, Eli, what does Daddy do for work?”

“Numbers!” Eli replied confidently.

“I don’t… I… I guess,” Paul huffed, defeated because Eli wasn’t exactly wrong. There was more to it, but numbers was a good way to summarize it. “Where do you live, Eli?”

He pointed one finger out toward the back door. “In the house!” he answered.

“Listen, bud, you really have to stop relying on technicalities when answering questions,” Paul sighed. Eli looked up at him. Clearly, everything he had said flew right over Eli’s curly little head. Brown eyes stared up at him. Intense and warm. Like Emma’s. He was starting to tan slightly, already olive-toned in his skin. Even a few days being in the sun was putting Paul to shame. He was pasty comparatively. There was a smattering of freckles appearing over his nose and forehead. Those weren’t there last summer. Last summer felt like it had just been yesterday. Where did the time go? “But you are really cute, so we’ll let it slide for now.”

The three of them sat there like that for a good long while. Babbling back and forth. Eli excitedly answering questions when they asked him. Talking quietly about what their plans for the rest of the weekend were going to be. Not much came to mind as to what they wanted to or should do. Their initial plans were changed a day or so prior. Eli was originally set to spend Saturday night with Deb and Alice, but at the last minute, they decided against it.

“We could always just do this,” Emma suggested, leaning back against the arm of the bench, propping her head up in her hand. “Just sit out here and do this.”

“Are you sure?” Paul asked as Eli snuggled into his chest with a yawn. “I’m sure Alice and Deb would be fine if we got back to them tonight.”

“Nah,” she insisted, waving her other hand at him. “Once you’ve celebrated one anniversary, you’ve celebrated them all.”

“We’ve literally never celebrated any anniversary ever.”

“Why start now then?” There was a point in that thought. There were milestones to be had in anniversaries, but despite all the weight put on those celebrations, they had yet to even acknowledge one. Not while they were dating. Not once they were married. It had been seven years since they technically got together. There was no official label put onto it for a number of months, but realistically, neither one of them had really thought about any other person since that day. “Listen, we missed… I don’t know four of them while we dated. This is the most we’ve done celebration-wise in three years since you became contractually bound to me. Besides, today is the actual day, so why even bother tomorrow?”

“I guess, it’d be nice to take you out to dinner, though.”

“You can do that whenever you want. I won’t fu… complain. There doesn’t need to be some special day to do that.”

“Next weekend then?”

“Sure, why not? Also, why the seventeenth? Why didn’t we wait just three more days?”

“Oh my god, Emma.”

“I’m just saying we could’ve gotten married on  _ four twenty, _ baby. Friggen  _ blaze  _ it!”

Paul rolled his eyes before glancing down on a dozing off Eli. “You’re the worst,” he muttered, rubbing Eli’s back softly. “I wouldn’t have been able to deal with that.”

“You would’ve figured it out, nerd,” she assured him. She sat there for a moment, so she could just watch them. Somehow black coffee guy was sitting beside her with  _ their  _ kid in his lap. They sat in  _ their _ backyard talking late into the evening. Later, they would retreat into  _ their _ house and probably talk in bed for a while before eventually falling asleep. She would wake up the next day and smile at his stupid face as he drooled onto his pillow. She would send Ted a secret thank you message while he wasn’t looking. He would make breakfast for once. Pancakes. They would be delicious. Things were really good. “I think this is the best way to celebrate it.”

“Just like this?”

“Yeah, no frills. This is it. No other people. Just us. I think I’d like that.”

“I think we can manage that.”

“Good.” She stared at him for a moment longer, a smirk growing across his face. He wasn’t going to call her out for doing the exact thing she always gave him shit for, but he did appreciate it when she did have her moments where the loving glances drifted his way. “Thanks for sticking around, Paul.”

He tilted his head to the side. “I don’t know. I feel like I should say that to you,” he responded, peeking down to find that Eli’s eyes had slid shut. 

“No, I don’t think so,” she told him. “Things aren’t always easy. I’m not always easy. Neither are you. So thanks for sticking it out with me. I just… I don’t know. You’re pretty great. Even when things aren’t good, I don’t think there’s anyone I’d rather figure out the bad shit with than you.”

His hand reached out and lightly squeezed her knee. “I love you, too, Em,” he replied. Nothing else. No frills. No unnecessary anecdotes. No soliloquies professing how much she meant to him. Simple.

She could feel the tears welling in her throat. Swallowing hard, she shook her head. “You love me? Fucking gross,” she remarked with a soft smile on her face. He matched her expression, once again squeezing her knee.

“ _ Annnnd _ she’s back.”


	37. Hairspray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma find themselves in the Hatchetfield High School auditorium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's another little guy. It's set way far out in the future. Just a little glimpse before we go back in time. I just couldn't stop thinking about this idea and had to put it in. I might do some jumping back and forth in the future too. I don't know. We'll see. I hope you all enjoy!!!
> 
> I will also really reply to comments in the morning because it's 1 AM and I think I'm going to fall asleep at my computer.

_ Many moons ahead. _

Paul could vaguely remember how uncomfortable the seating in Hatchetfield High School’s auditorium, but sitting in them with many more aches and pains than he had as a teenager was even less enjoyable than he remembered. Not that it was his first time in the auditorium since 2003. It was actually his fifth time in the past year. “Were the seats always this stiff?” he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably.

“Nope, they used to be stiffer,” Emma answered without looking up at him. She listlessly flipped through the pages of the playbill she was handed upon entering. “They replaced them sometime in the past ten years I think. Redid the whole fucking place even. Smells new.”

“Really? I think it just smells like that lady who passed by wearing too much perfume.”

She snorted and finally took a moment to glance up at him, narrowing her eyes. “You didn’t spend days upon fucking days in this place, Matthews. You wouldn’t get it,” she shot back at him before looking back down at the small booklet in her hands. “But yeah, holy shit, right? Like, why did no one tell her?”

He smiled, looking down over her shoulder as she skimmed through pages. Her age really showed in her hands. They looked well used. Years of coffee shop work. Backpacking. Painting. Mothering. Loving. He could see the lines from her constant smirking and shit giving. A streak of grey cut through her otherwise dark hair. But she was still just Emma. The very same Emma, who at one point didn’t even want to label him as her boyfriend. “Hey! Look!” she gasped as she plopped the playbill between them. “Found it!” He grinned. She absolutely did find it.

**_Elijah Matthews_** _(Corny Collins) is thrilled to be joining the HFHS theatre department for their production of_ Hairspray. _Eli is a senior here at HFHS, who you may recognize from his role as Moonface Martin in_ Anything Goes _or the much more captivating Coffee Man in_ How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying _, and with great sadness, this will be his final colorful, playbill bio. Outside of the safety of the auditorium, he is a member of the National Honor Society, Spanish Honor Society, and Tri-M Music Honor Society as well as the International Thespian Society. It’s been rumored that when he isn’t staying up all night doing all the homework ever, he’s able to completely demolish an entire family-sized bag of Doritos all by himself in a single sitting. In the fall, he plans to study psychology at Brown University and maybe adopt a fish. He’d like to thank Mrs. Lucas and Mr. Richards for keeping all of these crazy kids on task even when that seems like an impossible feat. He would also like to thank Hammy for instilling a love for theatre in him from a young age. Mom and Dani for always being willing to go over lines with him (with a little more improv less than family friendly language thrown in there from time to time). And finally, Dad, the self-proclaimed guy who doesn’t like musicals, for never missing a show, being endlessly supportive, and for marrying Mom, who is much cooler than you._

“That little shit,” he muttered under his breath, though the smile didn’t fade from his lips. He looked up and around where they were seated. “Where is Dani?”

“I don’t know, Paul. Probably with her friends,” she commented, still staring down at the long-winded blurb. “Why would she stay with her old fuddy duddy parents if she could be with her friends?”

“We’re not old fuddy duddies,” he argued as he continued to peek around for a high ponytail of dusty brown pin straight hair, swinging about in the clusters of kids hanging around in the aisles. “Plus, we bought her a ticket.”

She lifted a finger to point at him. “No, we did not,” she replied. “She had planned on going with her friends when you made her feel obligated to drive over with us.”

“I did not--”

“‘Dani girl, come on. It’s your brother’s last show--’”

“Okay, fine,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “You don’t need to keep going.”

“Well, good because I think it’s starting, so buckle up, Scrooge McDuck.”

“I thought Hidgens was coming,” he said in an attempt to talk quietly enough to not disturb those around them but loud enough that she would hear him. 

Nodding towards the back of the auditorium, she responded, “Got him a seat at the back. Y’know, he’s got to be able to make a quick fucking exit in the event of the end of the world.” It was the little bits of thoughtfulness that would come out on occasion that really got him still to that day. Things that other people might not even think twice about. He looked down at her, finding her eyes meeting his. “God, nerd, you better pay attention to the  _ stage _ and not my face.” He could have sworn when she returned her focus to the stage she bit down on her lip just slightly.

When the young lady he assumed to be the lead of the show emerged vertical on a well painted cardboard bed, he squinted in confusion. Unsure as to why she was singing in bed. Then she twirled out of the bed fully clothed, which further fed his confusion with the whole moment. He had to give the opening song credit where it was due, though. There was no denying where the show took place. If it was anywhere but Baltimore, he was going to throw a fit. The girl and other various vintage-clad ensemble members danced and crooned down the set that was meant to be a Baltimore roadway. An appearance made by a flasher in the song did add to his bewilderment, though.

Musicals didn’t make much sense. When he had been a little younger than Eli was, he sat in the same auditorium and begrudgingly watched a technically well done high school production of  _ Brigadoon _ and detested it. He couldn’t understand what was appealing about all the singing and dancing. All the overly dramatic acting. Never did he picture so many years later that he would be sitting in the Hatchetfield High auditorium not just once… but every year for a musical production. Not to mention choir and band concerts. Even so, he still didn’t understand the huge draw to musicals, but he could appreciate parts of them now. The parts were usually when Eli was in a scene. Although, he was fairly fond of  _ How To Succeed _ , to which Emma scoffed and proceeded to tell him how typical that was of him.

As the opening Baltimore song faded out along with the lights, a bouncy drum beat found its way in, rolling over the drum kit. It reminded him of music his grandfather liked to listen to when he was a kid. The lights returned in full force, illuminating a stage full of a whole different set of people. Different backdrop too. Brightly colored. Something inherently mid-twentieth century about it. At the top of the background, there was a large sign in funky fonts:  _ The Corny Collins Show. _ In the midst of the group of bopping teenagers, he found the part he knew he would like. Her hand found his wrist, fingers curling around it lightly.

“Hey there, teenage Baltimore!” Eli bellowed from center stage. His hair was short overall, though there was still a pile of curls atop his head, but they were smoothed down and slicked back, dark hair glistening under the stage lights. The suit was familiar. Blue. Tailored. When Eli had approached him about borrowing the suit he found in the back of the closet, Paul was hesitant. Not that he wore it ever. Truthfully, the last time he had put it on was when they took their “wedding photos” before Eli had even been a year old. Seeing it up there on Eli, though, he had to admit that the boy looked better in it even if he was wearing a bowtie with it. Squared shoulders. Long legs. Sharp jaw. Emma’s eyes and flair for sarcasm. Paul’s nose and mouth… and height. He was already just as tall as Paul was. If not slightly taller. “Don’t change that channel ‘cause it’s time for the  _ Corny Collins Show _ ! Brought to you by Ultra Clutch Hairspray!”

The costumes were impressive. Even Paul had to admit as much. They usually were, though. Between costumes and sets, everything looked surprisingly professional for a high school production. Emma explained that Hatchetfield High had some sort of insane theatre budget especially in more recent years after the merge with Sycamore. Their shows would be up for awards in the high school musical sphere and usually would sweep the competition. Tons of kids with dance and voice lessons since they could speak. Teens who had been in fifteen commercials before age fourteen. Bringing sharpened talent into what should have been just another high school play.

Eli, though, just liked it. He had fun. Being up there felt like being at home: comfortable and fun. To be fair, however, he didn’t think twice about saying yes when Hidgens offered to pitch in for some extra vocal training. It all showed as he slid around between suit and sweater-clad boys and girls with dresses that spun beautifully with their dance moves. Everyone was well choreographed. Dancing in sync with one another to the fun boppy tune that was playing. But he couldn’t look at anyone but Eli. The arched eyebrows and smirks. Smooth sliding and the occasional joining in on the rest of the group’s moves. A single dark curl fell from his slicked hair and onto his forehead, which he just played into the rest of the moves. Knocking his head back with ‘hng’ after singing, “Oh, every afternoon you turn your TV on.” The hair fell back into place as if it were as impressed with the move as Paul was. Eli’s sideways grin returned like he was well aware of it, too.

If Paul didn’t know any better, he would have thought this kid was a real heartthrob from the sixties who actually hosted a singing and dancing television show. Everything was so natural. Every note. Every movement. Every expression. He didn’t like musicals, and truth be told, he would never have believed that any child of his would have even considered being in one. But the way this kid rolled around that stage in that moment, he could have watched that forever. It would be difficult to admit, but he could have listened forever, too. The song itself was catchy in and of itself. The vocals, though, seemed to get better every time he heard Eli sing. 

Maybe he was biased, but he didn’t think so.

When Eli wasn’t on stage, Paul found his interest waning. Bored with a lot of the characters even though the music was pretty catchy. He didn’t care for the leading man in particular. There was nothing there. That… essence he assumed the role the boy was playing was supposed to have. He found himself just waiting for Eli to come back out… or the young man playing the lead girl’s mother. Most lines he delivered, Paul found himself chuckling. “Eli’s better than this kid,” he whispered to Emma during a song in the second act. “And I think I can say that objectively… because I don’t hate this so much.”

Without taking her eyes from the show, a small grin tugged at the corner of her lips as she leaned toward him. “Eli could’ve gotten that part,” she explained. “He wanted the one he has. Said he liked it better.” Paul couldn’t imagine being good enough at something that he could fucking choose which part of it he wanted to do.

Everytime Eli scooted out from backstage, it seemed his outfits were growing more and more flamboyant. Starting out with Paul’s blue suit. Then a white suit jacket and a different pair of black slacks. Eventually, it was just the jacket that seemed to change. Royal purple jacket. Copper shimmery jacket. Finally he closed with a red glittering jacket and matching bow tie atop a black button down. Paul couldn’t help but wonder if for the slacks and shirts Eli had been raiding his closet without telling him. Not that his clothes wouldn’t end up back where they belonged. It was the principle of it. And even so, the principle didn’t seem so important when his boy was looking so incredibly joyful he could hardly contain himself.

When the curtain call finally came, he found himself joining Emma in loud cheering when Eli slid back out in his red jacket, smirk on his face initially before it transformed into his normal more bashful grin. A wave of whoops and hollers came from somewhere across the auditorium. Likely the gaggle of girls Eli found himself hanging around. “Yeah, you go, buttface!” Dani was somewhere in that same general vicinity. He had finally located her. A little late but better to know she was still there and hadn’t just decided to disappear as she had the tendency to every now and then.

The lobby was crowded after the lights came up in the auditorium. Everyone had filed out all at once. Various family members of cast members lingered in the area, making it difficult to find a spot to wait. Luckily, between her aggression and his height, they managed to weave through the crowd to wait by the raised display area that was currently filled with poorly constructed clay creations from a 3D sculpture class. Emma raised herself up onto the brick wall in front of the glass box that protected the display. Paul stood beside her, leaning against the bricks.

“Ever think we’d be here, Matthews?” she inquired, poking his side.

“Where? Hatchetfield High? I mean, the kids were going to go here eventually I guess.”

“No, dumbass,” she grumbled with a roll of her eyes. “Waiting here for our kid to come out after he just kicked ass in a fucking musical.”

He thought about it for a moment, shifting the bouquet in his hand. The short answer was no, but things were so different than what he expected to happen. When he finally got to go on a date with her all that time ago, he was so worried he would screw it up that they wouldn’t even get far enough for him to call her his girlfriend. Let alone having a kid together. “I guess not,” he answered. “I don’t know what I thought would happen, though. I just wanted you to stay, so this is just a really nice perk.”

Groaning, she shoved his arm. “God, you’re fucking disgusting,” she told him. “I was just trying to make fun of you for having a kid that not only likes musicals but frequently participates in them. Then you had to go and make it about fucking  _ feelings. _ Ugh, I hate you.”

“Yeah, but you stuck it out this long,” he immediately sent back at her. “Might as well see how long you can hate me for. Also how often I can be absolutely disgusting.”

“I’ll show you disgust--”

“I think you’re both gross honestly.” They both turned their heads to find Eli looking particularly satisfied with his insult. “You’re so gross at each other that you didn’t even see me coming. Like, come on, guys?” He gestured to the very red, very glittery outfit. “How could you miss this?”

Emma hopped off the brick wall and stepped toward him. “Oh, shut the fuck up and get over here, smartass,” she grumbled with a beaming smile on her face. He leaned down to wrap his arms around her back while her arms looped around the back of his neck for a long tight hug. His eyes shifted over to Paul for a moment, who was staring down at them. Wonder filled his eyes. Like he was still in disbelief so many years later that this was his life. His family. She pulled back from Eli and held his face in her hands. “You kicked ass, kid. Objectively the best part of the show.”

“Pfft, objective, okay,” he scoffed. Somewhere beneath the snarky comeback, though, was pride shining through. He turned to Paul with eyebrows raised. “Alright, Daddy-o, what did we think about this one?”

A wide open-mouthed smile stared at Paul expectantly. Wanting to get the dirt on what Paul thought about the musical. Get the scoop from the harshest critic himself. “This one was actually pretty good,” he admitted with a shrug. Both Emma and Eli dramatically gasped and shared an impressively loud high five. “You wore me down I guess.”

“Y’know, I don’t even know that I care if you’re patronizing me. This is too amazing to actually hear coming from your mouth to question it,” Eli laughed. “Also, you finally caught onto the flowers thing. I’m proud of you for finally picking up on that, Dad.”

Paul turned to Emma. “Okay, to answer your question: no, I didn’t think we’d be here, where I’d be getting picked on by my whole family. I’m sure Dani will show up eventually to drive the final nail into the coffin,” he complained, handing her the flowers, before bringing his attention back to Eli. “You did a really great job, Eli… amazing really.”

Eli’s face lit up more than it had been while picking on his parents. Almost as if he were surprised to hear the words come out of Paul’s mouth. “Really?” he questioned.

“Well, yeah, duh. That’s my objective opinion as the ‘self-proclaimed guy who doesn’t like musicals’.” Paul wasn’t able to get another word in before Eli piledrove him with a hug. For a split second, it felt like he was a little boy again. Curled up on Paul’s chest. Holding onto him. Afraid if he let go the dream would fade away. He wrapped one arm around Eli’s back and rested his other hand on the back of Eli’s head. “You really were great. I’m proud of you, E.”

Arms wrapped tighter around his back. “Thanks, Papi,” Eli whispered into Paul’s ear. “For everything.”

“Hey, that’s what dads do.”

Another scoff came from beside them. “Are they getting all emotional and stupid?” Dani asked with a yawn.

“Yep,” Emma answered.

“Gross.”

“Exactly, I _knew_ I liked you.”

Neither one of them cared that they were being made fun of. At least not in that moment. Eli let Paul hold him a little longer, savoring a lingering feeling of an ending childhood. And Paul cherished it, wishing the time would stop slipping between his fingers. When they did pull away, Paul smiled at him. “I can’t believe you think Mom’s cooler than me.”

Eli threw his head back with laughter, looking exactly like Emma. “Oh, I don’t think. I know,” he explained. He turned to Emma and Dani. “Don’t you agree?” They both nodded like it was an obvious question that didn’t even need to be asked. HIs eyes shifted back to Paul. “Case closed.”

“Unbelievable. All of you? This feels like I’m being ganged up on.”

“Aren’t you always, Dad?” Dani chimed in.

“She’s got you there,” Emma added.

“You're my family, and I love you. But you’re all terrible.”


	38. Middle Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma have some conversations in bed instead of sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late again! I'll respond to comments tomorrow, but thank you all for commenting and I love that you guys are enjoying this lil journey.
> 
> This is also back to the pre-Eli is a theatre kid detour I took yesterday.

“Do you think she’ll like me?”

Paul looked up from the book he was reading. His glasses were sliding down his nose. “Who?” he asked as he turned his head to look at Emma.

She sat beside him, both of them with backs pressed against the headboard. Her eyes rested on the swell of her stomach. Bigger than she had been with Eli. Later than Eli had been. More anxious than before Eli was born. She ran a hand over the curve. “Maybe that’s why she’s late,” she continued. 

“I really don’t think that’s how it works, Em.”

“I don’t know how to do girls. I don’t--”

“You didn’t know how to do any of it, girl or boy, but you’re doing a great job now.”

“I just don’t want her to hate me.” Her heart was hammering in her chest. Truthfully, he was right. Neither of them had much guidance on where to go with parenting, but it was something to figure out along the way. They would make mistakes and hopefully learn from them. Overall, though, they would not be perfect. She would not be on top of her game all the time. That was okay, so why was she so nervous? “Paul, what if she hates me?”

After folding the corner of the page he was reading inward, he placed the book flat on his lap and slumped down to be eye-to-eye with her. “Hey,” he said quietly, very close to her face. An involuntary laugh escaped her throat. “What’s going on, kid?”

She leaned her head back against the headboard, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m so tired of being fucking pregnant,” she sighed as she quickly wiped a tear that was trying to slip from her eye. “I feel like shit. My feet fucking hurt, and my ankles look like goddamn coffee cans. I cried thinking about the fact that Hidgens liked me enough in his fucking biology class to basically adopt me. What the fuck is happening to me?”

With his lips pursed, he hummed in response. His eyes shifted up to the ceiling as well, trying to word his response. “Well,” he began as he rolled his neck to look back over to her. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that first part for much longer. If it doesn’t happen tonight, she’s getting evicted tomorrow.” A close-lipped smile crossed her face. “Then you can stop feeling like shit and get your normal ankles back. I, uh, don’t know what you’d like me to do about Hidgens. I think you’re stuck with him… probably.”

Her eyes drifted over to him. Big wide blue eyes. The bluest blue. The same stupid eyes that watched her serve shitty, spit-filled coffee for so long before anything even happened between them. It was the same look he continued to give her to that day. Warm and comforting. Strangely familiar at the start, something that frightened her. Nothing she had been used to. The fact that anyone would make her stomach flip with just a look was horrifying. Let alone that person being an awkward nerd like Paul. 

The muscles in her lower abdomen tightened as they had been periodically throughout the day. Not close enough. Part of her was thankful. “What if she’s like me, Paul?” she whispered. “What if she’s… fucking terrible and flighty and can’t handle being loved. And then leaves for--”

“Okay, well, let’s cut that off there,” he interjected. “You’ve got to stop with this, okay?” There was no answer. She bit down on the inside of her cheek. “Because you’re pretty great. Like,  _ really _ great, so don’t worry about that. Even if she… I don’t know… has troubles, which she probably will at some point. Eli will, too. It’s kind of just a part of being alive. Fucking struggling. If she struggles in the same ways you have, you’ll just know better how to help her out because guess what? I didn’t know her, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you’re not your mom. So there’ll be no reason for her to hate you.”

God, she was crying for what felt like the millionth time that day. It had just been tears at everything for the past couple of weeks. Hidgens caring for her in his weird way. Eli growing up too fast. A commercial that had a cat in it. Now, it was Paul saying nice things to her. He always did that, but it hit her differently in that moment. There were plenty of times they discussed his shitty parents. His terrible overbearingly angry father. His excessively disconnected mother. They never talked about her parents, though, by her own design admittedly. It all felt very similar when she thought about it. Her father was an air traffic controller for many years, and for most of her childhood, she could only remember him working the graveyard shift. Out all night. Sleeping all day. When he was awake, she couldn’t say that he ever had much to say to her. Mostly pleasantries unless her mother was already going in on her. Her mother was a first grade teacher at Willow Grove Elementary. Often, she was compared to the young children her mother came home from reprimanding all day. Usually, it was because small, terribly behaved children were still better to their teacher than she was to her mother. All she could distinctly remember of her mother was the look of disdain in her eyes whenever Emma walked into a room. 

“What if she cursed me to have a kid like me? I was terrible and--”

“Were you really terrible?”

“Yes, I fucking was, Paul.”

“What did you do that was so terrible?” His hand had found hers, and his thumb was grazing over her knuckles.

She thought about his question. What she did that was so terrible. That warranted all the horrible words that were flung all over her childhood home. Her greatest mistake was that she wasn’t Jane. Constant comparisons because she would never be good enough. Even when she excelled at things, they weren’t up to par with what they wanted. “I don’t know, Paul. I drank  _ a lot _ and snuck out all the time. I chain smoked like a motherfucker up until I left for Guatemala. I fought with them constantly. I mean, I told my mother I fucking hated her,” she yammered on, wiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands. “How terrible is that? I’m an asshole.”

“Well, why did you do those things?” he wondered. Something that she hadn’t considered. “Sometimes… and don’t get upset and think I’m trying to therapize you or something. But sometimes people act out when they’re upset. Maybe you were just a kid that wanted her parents to just… fucking like her.”

The idea that Jane might have struggled with the same feelings crept up into her throat. A different terrible feeling. Guilt. Not worry. She knew Jane wouldn’t have wanted her to feel the intense level of regret. Jane wouldn’t have been having any of the anxiety she was feeling either because she had been adamant about how people don’t have to just turn into their parents. It was often an uphill battle to not do so, but that was just what people had to do to not fuck up the next generation. “I don’t know. Maybe,” she replied. It was as good of an agreement as he was going to get from her. “Maybe she’ll be like you. It’s a lot to ask because we already have Eli. He’s just… totally you.”

“Are you kidding?” he snorted. “He’s… spunky and already making fun of me with you, and he’s only two. Let’s be real, Em. He’s way too much fun to be just like me.”

“You’re a nerd,” she chuckled, wincing as the clenching in her abdomen came in a heavier wave. More painful. “A big stupid nerd.”

“And also no fun. Don’t forget that,” he reminded her. She laughed again through the pain that had come over her. Turning his phone screen on, he took a gander at the time. “How long was that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe between five and ten minutes,” she answered, waiting for the wave to pass soon enough as it had been. “Also, I know you have no fun genetics. It  _ is _ in the name after all. Paul No Fun Matthews.”

“Are we putting my full name on this birth certificate?”

“Maybe. I’ll keep you posted,” she grunted as she let out a heavy breath. The constriction in her gut seemed to be letting up, but the pain lingered on. “We should probably figure out what the baby’s full name is going to be first. That might be a good idea.”

“I mean, we could always go with Jane.”

“No, I don’t… she won’t be Jane, y’know? I don’t really think I could do that.” The thought of calling her own child by her sister’s name felt strange and painful. Like she would be trying to bring the dead back to life. Poking a sleeping bear within her. “Maybe a middle name.”

His hand squeezed hers. “Okay… are there any names you might  _ like _ then?” he offered. “You mentioned Stella at one point.”

She shook her head. “I’ll just end up yelling her name like Marlon Brando all the time, and that would be embarrassing for everyone involved,” she explained.

“I liked Violet.”

“That was the gum chewing girl from  _ Charlie And the Chocolate Factory. _ She turned into a giant fucking blueberry and probably died.”

“Jesus, Emma. Okay, what about… I don’t know. I think you said Dahlia once?”

“Just like that girl who was murdered in the forties, and I don’t think they ever caught the murderer.”

“No, they didn’t, but they did make a terrible movie about it with Scarlett Johansson and Hilary Swank.”

Resting her head against the headboard again, she glanced over at him. “You’re alright, kid,” she said with a small smile. He didn’t even do that much technically, but her worries felt just slightly eased. Maybe not because she believed his words fully because she wasn’t sure that she did, but he was in her corner. Where she had shortcomings, he was there to pick up the slack. Neither one of them was tyrannical or distant. Eli was such a happy kid. Joyful and wonderful. A little stinky ray of sunshine. Paul stared right back at her. In the dim light, she could almost see where Eli looked a little like him. Gentle bow to his lips. Quiet contemplative stare. Looking at her as if she were made of magic. “Man, I can’t wait to not be as big as a house, so I can fuck you like a normal human.”

“See, you say that now, but you’re going to be wishing I was dead in the next twenty-four hours. At least that’s how it went last time.”

“Well, I’ve got a little bit of time to get over it before you’re going to be able to do anything with me.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded as he watched her right eye squeeze shut. Clearly another contraction was coming through. He looked down at his phone again. “Hey, six minutes. Getting close there, Perkins.”

Her hand rested down at the bottom of her stomach. The muscles clenched beneath her palm. “What about Daniela?” she offered. “It was Jane’s middle name.”

“Daniela,” he repeated, testing the name out on his tongue.

“Yeah, little Dani Matthews. Flipping you off as she runs out to go smoke copious amounts of pot with her delinquent friends.” He let out a laugh. “That sounds like you think I’m joking. You evidently have not flipped your parents off while running off to smoke copious amounts of pot with your shitty delinquent friends. Yeah, that’s right, punk. I smoked weed with Gary Goldstein, attorney at law.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for when you have him come in with those divorce papers.”

“I think I’ll hold off on that for now,” she told him. “Keep you around a little while.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re starting to like me a little bit, Ms. Perkins.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about that not too long ago actually.”

“About liking me? I sure hope you’d still be thinking about that. If you didn’t, we’d have some serious problems with communication here.”

“No, you ding dong.” She smacked his chest harder than she intended, eliciting a quiet ‘ow’ out of him. “Yikes, sorry to Hulk smash you there, dude.”

“Yeah, no problem. Just keep that strength handy for when I need you to beat people up for me.” Her chuckles turned into a light groan. When he shifted to stand up, she shook her head and gave a half-hearted thumbs up. “You sure?” She nodded. “Okay… well, what were you thinking about?”

“Oh, uh, it’s kind of fucking dumb, so don’t make fun of me okay.”

“Emma, I’m really not in any position to make fun of you right now.”

“Damn straight, you’re not. How many minutes was that, by the way?”

His phone screen lit up. “Five minutes. Just get that water broken, and we’ll be in business.”

Once again, she nodded, exhaling heavily. “But I was wondering what you’d like about me… um, I don’t know. Hyphenating my last name?” He arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know. You’re not going anywhere. Neither am I. It might be a little easier when the kids are in school some day.”

“If that’s what you want, Emma, you do it. Would that mean I could call you Matthews, too?”

“No, you’d have to say the whole thing. Give me shit, but it has to end with Perkins-Matthews.”

“Ugh, not worth it. Too many syllables for giving you shit.” He looked down at her with a slight grin on his lips. “You really want to do that, though?”

She shrugged, her own grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Yeah, I’ve been considering it.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.”

“I knew you wouldn’t.” She nudged him with her elbow. “Plus I tested it out, and my signature would be fucking beautiful.”

“Hah,  _ nerd,” _ he chortled. “This is prime elementary school girl with a crush behavior.  _ You _ have a crush on me, you goddamn nerd.”

“Paul,” she sighed. “We have two kids together and have been married for three fucking years.”

“You like me, nerd.”

“Jesus, I don’t like the role reversal here.”

“Should have thought about that before having a crush on me.”


	39. Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another look into the future, there are some family discussions that go on outdoors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm doing another jump into the future because I wanted to. It's really fun to write the kiddos as realized human beings. They're just??? So much fun. Also I really like mom Emma. We had a good time with this one.
> 
> I hope everyone is safe and well. If you are in the US, I hope you are safe and using your voice and actions to lift up those who are in need.

“Dan, neither one of them is going to care.”

Dani slumped down in the passenger seat of Eli’s car. A clunking piece of junk he had saved up for working as a lifeguard over the previous summers. Sometimes the dashboard lights wouldn’t come on at night. Other times he had to wiggle the key just right to even get it to roar to life. Highway driving was always sketchy. Actually going the speed limit was a test to the car’s fortitude. Going even a little above would result in a very concerning vibrating that reverberated through the entire vehicle. But he loved his little Honda Civic no less. She loved not having to take the bus to school, so it was a win-win situation.

“You don’t know that,  _ Elijah _ ,” she grumbled, sinking further into her seat. “You don’t know shit about crap because you’re their favorite.”

He snorted as he leaned forward to look around an intersection before proceeding through a stop sign. “That’s a load of bullshit, you fucking dummy,” he told her. “Clearly, you’re mom’s favorite, which is fine, but still.”

“They love you best and--”

Slamming on the breaks, she lurched forward in her seat, nearly hitting her head on the dashboard. When she got her bearings, she stared over at him to find a serious set of eyes looking back. “You listen here, and you listen good, okay?” She nodded. “They love you just as much as they love me. Stop… fucking beating yourself up over something that you’re overthinking way too much.”

“Eli, it’s a big fucking deal!”

“Yes, Dan, I know it is, but you have to know that they’re going to be fine. Because let’s be real, you could come home and tell them you murdered someone. Dad would help you hide the body, and Mom would figure out how to cover it up. Then… y’know, we’d frame Ted or something.”

She blew a long piece of hair out of her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. He continued slowly down the long, winding country road. Living in the middle of the woods was something she enjoyed her whole life. It was quiet and peaceful. Nights out on the pond were some of her favorites. Often, Paul would come out and sit with her, and they’d talk about nothing until the sun had long since set, making it impossible to see her sketchbook in her lap. Usually, he would head inside before her. Leaning down and pressing a kiss on the side of her forehead.  _ “Alright, Dani girl. Don’t stay up too late.” _ His hand would linger on the back of her head for a moment before he retreated back into the house. 

Her knees pulled up onto the seat in front of her, and she tucked her chin between her knees. It was an act she knew Eli hated. Today wasn’t a day he would scold her for it, though. “Dani, that’s not safe,” he warned. She thought he wouldn’t try to scold her at least. “Listen, man. You’re going to be okay.” The blinker clicked quietly as he made the turn onto Willow. “I promise.”

The driveway was long and still made of gravel, no matter how many times Paul brought up paving it. Emma liked the way the gravel looked and the general vibe it gave off. He just wanted to not have pebbles in his shoes after just walking into the house from his car. Despite the numerous discussions, the gravel remained. Eli pulled his car between the Forester Paul had gotten in the last year and Emma’s Passat. Blue and red respectively, with Eli’s yellow between them. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, grabbing her elbow before she had the chance to exit the car. She looked over her shoulder at him. His jaw was clenched, eyes serious. He looked like their mother. Olive toned and brown eyed. Sharp jawed. Dark curly hair. “Everything’s going to be okay. Okay?”

Her own clear blue eyes--the same hue as their father’s--scanned over his face. This was her big brother. The impossible standard she was unable to live up to in school. A golden child. Smart and talented. She wanted so badly to be as naturally inclined toward motivation like he was, but she wasn’t. Everything felt so heavy all the time. It was easier to do the bare minimum and just be able to move on at the end of the day. He didn’t hold it against her though. Didn’t make her feel like she was wrong for feeling that way. Every time she needed anything, he would sit down with her. Algebra homework. Geoscience projects. Spanish test studying. He sat down and was patient through every question she had. In return, she spent more time than she would have liked helping build sets for the various stage productions he participated in at school, though she was pretty happy to spend the quality time with him. Not that she would ever admit that to his face.

After taking a deep breath in, she nodded. “Okay,” she agreed. It was difficult not to trust him even though the racing in her chest and the sickness in her gut made her think otherwise.

“Okay.”

Inside the house, the air was fragrant with the scent of garlic and onion. Roasted chicken too maybe. They both kicked off their shoes into an unkempt pile with Emma’s boots. Paul’s sneakers sat neatly beside them. In the kitchen, a song that she vaguely recognized as being sung by Fiona Apple played loud enough that the occupants of the room couldn’t hear the kids arrive home. “Cut the shit, you nerd!” they could hear Emma holler with a chuckle in her tone. “Go finish fucking working.”

When they rounded the corner into the kitchen, Dani joined Eli in his groaning at the sight of their parents. Paul stood behind Emma the island. She grinned down at a cutting board full of halved cherry tomatoes and basil leaves. His arms were wrapped loosely around her middle, face buried in her neck. She smiled down at the counter as he whispered something into her ear. "Well, don't look now, Casanova, but the fruit of your loins just got home," she teased with her cheeks tinged a little red.

His eyes darted up and stared at the kids with an expression that landed somewhere between embarrassed and shocked. Not that he should have necessarily been either. They were their children returning home after an activity after school. And those children, both being in high school and well aware of how they came to exist, they knew exactly what the play Paul was making was intended to go. "Hey, guys," he greeted, backing away from Emma. "I've got some, um, work to finish up. I'll be back up in a little…  _ byeee."  _ With that, he dashed out of the kitchen and toward the basement.

"Dad, you're gross!" Eli hollered from the foyer.

"Well, me being gross is what brought you into this world, Eli," Paul shot back from the basement stairs. 

Eli hooted in response. "Damn! That was smooth  _ as hell _ , Pops!" Paul muttered something incomprehensible in response before retreating down the stairs. With a satisfied grin, Eli turned his attention to Emma. “Mami, I don’t know what you’re cooking, but it smells great.”

“Oh nothing too fancy. Y’know, chicken and pasta. Throwing some mozzarella balls and baby tomatoes in there,” she explained while emptying the contents of the cutting board into a medium-sized glass bowl.

“Don’t downplay it. I’m sure it’s going to be delicious.”

She placed the cutting board back down on the counter and then laid a log of fresh mozzarella cheese out onto it. “Well, I’m glad you think so because I’ve been waiting for your ass to get home, so you can finish it up,” she stated with a smirk. His face fell as his brain desperately tried to come up with an excuse to hide away until dinner was done. “Time’s up, buddy boy,” she jeered. “I’ve got some stuff drying out back and need to make sure it isn’t getting all fucked up. So get your first born butt over here and get chopping.”

“Why can’t Dani do it?”

“Because she’s very clearly my baby, and  _ she _ helped Dad struggle through making dinner last night.” She glanced over at Dani, who was shrinking off into the corner. “Plus, I need her help out there, so just cut up the mozzarella, E.” Walking toward the edge of the kitchen to talk out into the living room, she nodded to Dani to follow. Which, although she just wanted to crawl in a hole of anxiety, she did quietly with her backpack still slung over one shoulder.

The backyard was expansive and green. As a kid, she had always wanted a dog. Begging and pleading constantly to get a puppy. Promising she would be the one who would take care of it. Every time she was shut down this resentment grew inside of her. Any time she would go to a friend’s house where there was a happy dog there to greet her, she would silently curse her parents. It built up long enough that it exploded into a terrible temper tantrum at Paul’s feet. Screaming. Blind and unnecessary anger. Once she had stopped screaming, he sat down cross-legged beside where she laid on the ground. He quietly explained that they would love to have a dog and even almost adopted a puppy at one point, but that was when they found out Eli had a terrible asthma-inducing allergy to dogs. As she grew older, she was very thankful that her brother hadn’t gone into an asthmatic episode in the name of adopting a dog. 

During the aftermath of the dog meltdown, Emma had gone out of her way to try to distract her as much as possible. At the side of the yard was a small shed-type building. The Mother’s Day after Dani had been born, Paul and Melissa had worked tirelessly to secretly erect a small space for Emma to dedicate to the art that helped her decompress on days that seemed like they wouldn’t end. The original room that was designated as the studio had gone to Dani. Three walls painted various colors over the years. The chalkboard wall became more and more covered in chalk art as she grew older. The shed was the same brick red that the house was with a similar white trim around the windows and the french doors that led inside. On long summer afternoons, the two of them would sit on the floor with different mediums. Acrylic paints. Watercolors. Clay. Oil pastels. 

Following her mother through the grass, she took in the color of the setting sun in the reflection of the pond. Their house was the place where the groups of friends liked to spend time. Especially nights. A lot of late nights were spent on the water as a bonfire fizzled out. Giggles and secrets. Times that slipped away too quickly, as summers often did. She threw her head forward, clenching her fists at her sides. 

The inside of the studio looked like something out of someone’s Pinterest boards. The walls were painted white, each board still visible through the paint. A string of white round lights wound around the tops of the walls. The entire space was illuminated in a soft yellow glow between the sunset and the lights. A long wooden table ran along the far side, covered in papers, paint, and other various art supplies and tools. There were two easels to the left of the room. One had a canvas that had a layer of primer laid over a very light sketch. At the other side of the room, there was a small square table and two stools on either side of it. An old coffee cup sat next to a sketchbook with a pencil on top of it. Sometimes she would join Emma out there in the morning during weekends in the summer. Eat a little breakfast and drink coffee in the quiet of the water splashing against the land.

She glanced around the space, trying to find the pieces that had been drying. Her brows furrowed when she could see nothing even halfway finished. Emma plopped down in one of the chairs, motioning for Dani to sit across from her. “You looked like you were bugging out in there,” she said as Dani fell onto the other stool. “Thought you might have something eating at your brain.”

Shrugging, Dani found the end of her ponytail and twirled the ends around her fingers. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I’m just tired.”

An exaggerated sniff at the air. “Daniela, can you tell me what that smells like?”

_ “Mom,” _ she groaned, rolling her head back.

“That’s right. It smells like some bullshit,” Emma continued. She picked up the pencil that had been on top of the open sketchbook and tapped it eraser side down on the page. Her eyes narrowed at Dani, who felt increasingly uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “Come on, Dan. I know you’ve been struggling lately.”

It wasn’t something they all talked about often, if at all. Paul was the first one to notice. She had been becoming more distant as the days went on. Small portions of food dished out onto her plate even when it was one of her favorite meals. Less interaction with friends. Grades slipping even in classes that she usually excelled in. Paul was the one to suggest a therapist might be a good idea, which Dani had been so offended by at first. There was nothing wrong with her. Not as much as what went on with other people at least. She wasn’t  _ crazy. _ At least she didn’t think so.

Not until she woke up in the middle of the night. Drenched in sweat. Hands shaking. Heart pounding. She slipped down the hallway, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards. The door to their bedroom didn’t squeal if she lifted it up just slightly as it opened. He slept closer to the door, snoring quietly. She pushed his shoulder lightly, hoping it was enough to wake him up. It was enough, a fact she had learned as a little girl who was deathly afraid of sleeping alone for so long. Waking him up was usually quick and ended with being held until she drifted back to sleep between her parents. He followed her back into her room, where they sat on her bed and all the tears began to spill from her eyes and the fears from her mouth. She went on for what felt like a year, and he simply sat across from her listening… at three in the morning.  _ “Daddy, I don’t want to die, but I just… feel nothing… like, numb. And I’m really scared and tired.” _

Once her rambling was up, he held her up against his chest like he had when she was a little girl. Warm and familiar. His soap smelled a little bit like clove and oranges. It was comforting. The bed sunk down behind her, and a hand rested on her back.  _ “You’re going to be okay. We’ve got you, sweet girl.” _ The name was something that came out less as she got older because she had stated it embarrassed her. But in that moment, there was something that felt like an old friend coming back to visit. Memories of quiet coos during bedtime stories. Warm evenings spent showing off her messy artwork. It felt safe and filled with love.

“I’m okay, Mom,” she insisted, picking at the skin on the side of her thumb. When she brought her eyes back up, she found Emma staring at her with a concern-filled gaze. “Mom, I’m  _ fine.” _

“Dani.”

“Mom, I’m… it’s nothing,” she reiterated. Her leg bounced up and down uncomfortably. Heart hammered against her chest. The nerves were rising in her stomach. She was suddenly concerned that she might throw up.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” Emma commented, dropping the pencil back down onto the table. “Just like Dad. I think it’s the eyes.” She wasn’t wrong. Dani had the same bug-eyed doe eyes that Paul had. Wide and sensitive and just a little crazy looking if she opened them up wide enough. Truthfully, she looked mostly like Paul. Soft features. No sharp angles to be found, unlike Eli’s jaw which could cut someone like a knife. Sloping nose that snuck up just barely at the tip. An elf nose, as Emma described it. Excessively large bluer than blue eyes. Complete lack of poker face. “I just want you to know you can talk to me… or Dad. It’s… you’re safe here with me, okay?” Dani nodded. Once again, Emma narrowed her eyes. “Is someone giving you issues at school?”

“Mom, no,” Dani laughed, a smile finally coming across her lips.

“Because I will beat the fuck out of them.”

“I know you will.”

“Good because I am so ready to fight someone.”

“Dad not arguing with you enough?”

“No, and he’s just too fucking nice to pick a fight with,” Emma whined, leaning back in her frustration. “Your brother seems ripe for the picking, though.”

“You know he’ll do it. Eli would fight a lizard if it looked at him the wrong way, but it would be, like, rhythmic snapping in an alleyway. Sharks and Jets style fighting. There would probably be at least… like, two and a half musical numbers.”

“And Dad has to watch and tell him he enjoyed it even if he fucking hated it.”

“Mom, we’ve got to find this lizard. I want to see this happen.”

“I mean, tomorrow  _ is _ Saturday. We could always hit up PetCo and see which lizard looks the most hateful. Then it’s on like fucking donkey kong, bitches.”

Dani threw her head back with laughter. That was something she liked with getting roped into feelings conversations with Emma. She loved her, obviously, but just wanted to make her feel better. It was made clear that acknowledging what the emotions were was immensely important to do. There was no shame in turning things light, though. Laughter was just as important as tears, and if there was anyone who knew how to do laughter, it was Emma. Gut busting laughter at times. Jokes and jabs. She knew that dealing with the heavy stuff could be difficult. That when things became too hard to verbalize they could just as easily be buried deeper. 

Once their laughter had faded into just lingering giggles, Dani stared across the table at her mother. Dark curls piled on top of her head in a messy bun. A single streak of grey at her left temple. There were gentle lines at the corners of her eyes and sides of her mouth from the smiles she had given over the years. Grins of pride when Dani and Eli came home with good news from school. Smiles filled with joy when she found out that cousin Tim was going to go backpacking in Europe with his live-in girlfriend. Smirks laced with fondness when she watched Paul get nervous about her words even after so many years. It was just Emma. Tough and mean Mom who was fiercely protective but also gentle in the quiet moments when it really counted.

“Actually, Mom,” Dani piped up. Her hands folded themselves in her lap. Eli’s words from earlier in the evening stuck in her mind. She wondered if she really was Emma’s favorite. It seemed impossible that anyone would prefer her to Eli, and it seemed even less likely that either of their parents would favor one of them over the other. “I do have something that’s sort of been on my brain lately.”

“Hit me with it, blue eyes,” Emma shot back immediately as she sent a finger gun in Dani’s direction. She was heavy on the pet names. Even when some of them weren’t necessarily endearing. On a daily basis, she still referred to Paul as ‘nerd’ and Hidgens as ‘that old fucking coot’. Even so, everyone around her knew that they were meant in jest. There was usually no harm meant in them. Just a silly little way she showed affection in broad daylight.

“I… um… I’m… shit… fuck,” Dani stumbled out. The words were getting caught on her tongue. Nerves were wrapping around her throat like a suffocating vine. “Um, hi, it’s me, your daughter Daniela.”

Emma arched a brow. “And hello, it’s me, your mother Emma,” she played along.

“Yes, and I have some things I’d like to tell you. Well, not  _ things _ . Just thing. I’ve kind of been sitting on it for a while, and Eli thinks that I’ll feel better if I talk to you guys about it.”

“Should I get Papi out here?”

“Nah, I figured you’ll just end up telling him. There’s no secrets between you two.” Emma snorted but didn’t disagree. There weren’t. Not anymore. After a certain number of years pass knowing a person, there was no way to hide things from the other. “I… jeez, this was a lot easier when I rehearsed it in the shower every night for the past fucking week.”

“Well, take your time. The best part is your brother is stuck making dinner, and your father is probably going to be stuck on the phone with Bill for the next half hour.  _ And _ we live here, so we can sit out here all night and then boom! Fifty feet and we’re inside the house!”

The small smile found its way back onto Dani’s face. “Mom… um, I’m… gay,” she finally admitted. Her chest suddenly felt ten pounds lighter despite her heart still racing. “I… yeah, that’s it I guess.”

“Well, fuck,” Emma replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “I can’t say I’m surprised, but that makes two of you then.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I know Eli--”

“Dani, stop it,” she interjected with a chuckle as she leaned across the table and rested a hand on Dani’s arm. “Listen, if that’s who you are, then it’s who you are. We don’t give a shit who you love. I mean as long as they’re good to you that’s all that fucking matters. Did you think we were going to… I don’t know. Be angry with you just because Eli’s as gay as the fucking Fourth of July?”

“I don’t know,” Dani told her honestly. She wasn’t sure why she had been so nervous. She didn’t know why she thought they would be so upset with her. Eli had been right. He usually was. “I just didn’t know if you guys wanted, like, a  _ normal _ kid with--”

“Listen, kiddo, have you fucking met us?” Emma asked her. “Dad came into a coffee shop I worked at in my fucking thirties while going through community college and over-tipped me for shitty coffee just because he thought I was hot for telling a guy to shove a coffee up his ass. He did that for an entire year before Ted forced him to ask me for my number. Hammy was my biology professor, who I bought groceries for because he was afraid the world was going to end. Uncle Jack rattled off every word to  _ Man! I Feel Like A Woman _ at a karaoke night stone cold sober and had the audacity to be embarrassed after.”

“Did that really happen like that? Uncle Jack said he had been drinking.”

“Fucking lies. All fucking lies, but the point is that we’re not normal. No one is, but we’re a particularly stupid group of goddamn weirdos. Being gay is the least weird thing going on in this family. I mean, baby, I slept with all sorts of men and women back in my day.”

“Wait. What?”

“Sexuality is weird, Dan. Straight people are a bunch of fucking squares.”

“But Dad…”

“Well, Dad’s already a square, but I’m not so sure I’d put him on one side or another.” Dani laughed again, wiping her tear-streaked face with the sleeve of her hoodie. “We’re going to love you no matter what, Dani, so no more worrying about this shit, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Emma leaned forward with a smirk now crossing her face as she waggled her eyebrows. “So do you have any cuties in mind? Are you an ass kind of gal or is it the boobies that do it for you?”

“Oh my  _ god,” _ Dani groaned, getting up from her stool and walking back toward the house. “Let’s go eat, you old fucking coot.”

Emma scooted along to walk in pace with her. “That’s stone fucking cold, kid,” she sighed, wrapping an arm around Dani’s back. “But we do love you, Dan, and we’re so proud of the woman you’re turning out to be. Just because you have struggles or feel like you’re not fucking normal doesn’t mean we will ever love you any less.”

“I don’t want to be too much--”

“You’re not a burden. We’re here to take care of you and to help you when you’re feeling down and to support who you are.” They stopped briefly by the sliding glass door. Emma rested a hand on Dani’s cheek, a sad smile touching her lips. “Don’t ever feel like I wouldn’t love you no matter what. You could kill a man, and while I’d be a little shocked and disappointed in your sudden turn to fucking crime, I would still love you. There’s literally nothing you could do to ever change that.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Dani responded, barely above a whisper. When Emma hugged her, pulling her down to be tight against her, it felt a little different than when Paul would hold onto her. There was something a little more urgent in it. Like she couldn’t get a message across quick enough. Like she wanted to hold on for dear life. Maybe she wanted to convey that this was her life. Trying desperately to express how much love was in her heart. Dani could tell she wasn’t sure how much came across, but there was always enough. She and Eli always knew.

“You got it, sweet girl.”


	40. Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul, Emma, and company go to a wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, lads.

Alice was married the summer after Dani was born. She and Deb had settled on a destination of sorts. Not terribly far away. Vermont. But there were enough people that wouldn’t be willing to make the drive that he headcount would drop significantly. Which it did, to their relief. Although, they were a little confused as to why it seemed like an episode of  _ the Office _ was playing before their eyes when each of Bill’s long-term work friends RSVPed yes. Even Ted. People who had been invited as a courteous gesture and not as guests they actually anticipated coming. Emma was the one to just think of it as extra money or gifts. It was a fair point.

On a small piece of paper inside the envelope that contained the invite addressed to Paul and her, there was a message scrawled in Alice’s neater-than-a-font handwriting:  _ Please don’t forget that our flower boy and little nugget are absolutely invited, too! :) _ Of course they were. Alice and Deb were always the first ones to jump in when they needed a babysitter. Even when a second baby was brought into the picture. Dani had the tendency to be a little fussier than Eli. Throwing tantrums frequently when she was upset about something. Waking in the middle of the night often, shrieking. Making an issue out of eating things she knew she liked just for the sake of it. But then there would be hours even days sometimes of peace. She just wanted to love them. All of them. Even Eli. Snuggling up to anyone she could. Humming happily against Emma’s neck or Paul’s chest. Quietly singing nonsense while patting soft damp hands on them gently. All the chaos leading up to it almost made the tender quiet moments that much more magnificent. 

Despite all the roller coaster rides of moods, the girls just loved having both of them around, so they were the special exception to the no children rule at the wedding.

They were married outside in a field beside an old, large, renovated barn. It was a breezy, cool late August day. A perfect day, by any standard. Cool for summer. Sunny. Cloudless sky. A picture perfect day to be married.  _ “Remember when we got married in the fucking rain?” _ Emma had whispered over to Paul, who simply smiled and nodded as Dani stood on his lap. Jumping with his hands softly stabilizing her at her sides and then hiding in his neck when the people behind them would wave to her. 

The girls had so many friends in the wedding itself. Both men and women and everything in between gliding down to the end of the aisle. A sea of various shades of purple. All shapes and sizes. Every garment was different. A pleasant and wonderful palate cleanser from the Pinterest monster that Melissa had become. It wasn’t what either of them thought of when it came to what a typical wedding would look like. In the defense of the girls, these two weren’t really the ones to be making any sort of comment on what a traditional wedding looked like. Some faces Emma vaguely recognized. A couple of knuckleheads who used to smoke a ton of pot out by the dumpster at her old apartment. That kid who came in and always complained about the hot chocolate. Was that the girl from the grocery store? Where was her  _ Grease _ boyfriend? There was a young man that could have been him, though it was difficult to tell without the leather jacket. She wondered, jokingly, out loud what Grace Chastity might have been up to that day. Paul nudged her with his elbow, but he wasn’t able to fully hide the grin on his face.

Eli was the last person down the aisle before Deb and Alice. When given the option of having to carry a pillow that held rings or throwing flower petals around, it was a no brainer for him. He carried his little basket down the lavender runner between the two sections of seating, though there was no particular side designated to either of the brides’ families. Petals in various hues of purple and white fell all over the aisle. One or two times, a handful went so high in the air even Emma at the far end of the front row could see them over the guest’s heads. She glanced at Paul, who years earlier would have been sitting with a knee bouncing and face twisting with anxiety. Instead, he grinned and whispered something to Dani as he pointed to the clearing at the end of the aisle. Her heart fluttered involuntarily. Even after all that time, she was still scolding herself for it.

Both girls wore dresses. Deb in a flowy bohemian number. Capped sleeves that showcased her growing collection of tattoos. An entire aquatic dream sequence. More and more fish seemed to appear somewhere on her body every time they saw her. She was working in marine biology and still smoking “hella weed” (as Emma described the amount) while Alice taught third grade and did not, in fact, smoke hella weed. Alice strode forth at Bill’s arm in a simple, plain white dress. Solid material with a bit of lace in the bodice. Both of them beamed with excitement that was brighter than any sunny day they could have had for their wedding day. Deb’s eyes looked brighter than when Paul had met her as a teenager. She looked like someone brought back to life. Like someone had flipped a switch. He glanced back at Emma, who was entranced in the midst of the vows that were being read. His hand reached up to run along the middle of her upper back. Fingers lingered between her shoulder blades where Deb’s influence had come through.

When she had said she wanted to get a tattoo, he was confused. Not off put by the idea. Just a little bewildered. It seemed strange to him to suddenly be wanting a tattoo in her late thirties, but who was he to judge? Especially when she came home with it one day. There was a small bouquet between her shoulder blades, no bigger than five inches around. Still feeling out of the loop, he told her it was nice. It wasn’t until she was dozing off in bed that night that she explained it. There were only three types of flowers. Carnations. Daffodils. Poppies. Each tied to a different month of the year. Corresponding to different birthdays in those months. Carnations were January: for him. Daffodils were March: for Eli. And finally Poppies that indicated August for the tiniest of the clan.  _ “Don’t get all fucking gross and sappy on me, you fucking ding dong,” _ she had grumbled. But it was too late. He was already too touched to not be a little emotional.

The reception was held in the large barn, adorned with strings of lights and greenery along walls and creating a canopy over the entirety of the area. There were only a few tables, corresponding with the small crowd of people who had actually attended the wedding. A small area beside the table appeared to be designated for dancing. Atop a table decorated with similar floral arrangements sat a discreetly placed set of speakers that played soft acoustic guitar music. Quiet vocals and harmonies. Peaceful.

As they approached their table, Eli scrambled towards it, hands in the air screaming,  _ “Taaaaaaaaaad!” _ The most genuine smile he ever saw Ted make with his own face came over him as he held his hand out for a high five. Then a low five. Then ultimately gave Eli a quick but sincere hug. When he caught Paul watching with a smirk, he rolled his eyes and flipped him the bird. Despite their numerous conversations about how language and gestures really needed to be more appropriate in front of the children, nothing had changed. It was a special occasion, though, so Paul flipped him off right back.

Eventually, Bill joined them at their table as per his request. He couldn’t bear to be seated with his ex-wife, and Alice apparently was more than happy to oblige him. The thought was likely one she already had. They all chatted animatedly through dinner. Melissa and Emma were having a full on three act two woman show going across the table, Bill between them. Paul shrugged when their eyes caught, and Bill’s read as looking for some sort of assistance. Gesturing to the empty glasses of wine and beer bottles as an explanation, Bill leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face before taking a long swig of his water. His use of water looking like he was drinking himself into oblivion was almost as entertaining as Ted’s face when Emma caught him with his arm casually draped around Charlotte’s shoulders.

The passage of time was strange. Ten years ago he knew these people. Some of them barely. Some of them ghosts of the past. Some of them were struggling to hang onto him as he drifted away. Yet here they all were, like a group of old chums. Going on for hours without skipping a beat. Laughing and arguing before bursting into hysterics once again. Emma’s fingers were cold against his neck just above the collar of the button down he was wearing. Gently caressing the bare skin. He glanced over at her to find she was completely engrossed in a conversation with Bill. The touch was completely second nature. When he rested his hand on her thigh and Ted broke out in a barrage of comments about how they needed to get a room, her hand took a brief hiatus from Paul’s neck to flip Ted off. All without looking from Bill. Ted a few years back would have started a fight with her, but instead, he waved her off with a grunt and a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Come on and dance with me, Papi,” she said after an hour of sitting and talking and giving their food a chance to settle.

“Yeah,  _ Papi--” _

“Ted, I swear to god,” Paul groaned before turning to look back up at Emma. “I don’t know, Em. It’s not really… I don’t really dance, y’know?”

She patted his chest. “Oh I know, but I’d like to get a dance in with you, loverboy,” she explained. He wouldn’t mind being seen on the dance floor with her. Hell, he wouldn’t mind being seen anywhere with her. He didn’t. But the yellow dress she chose to wear really did all the right things for her. Color. Shape. He caught himself staring at her ass at least four times throughout the day, and those were only the times he was able to catch it. “Come on.”

“I’ve got Dani, and she’s pretty calm,” he argued, gesturing to the child who was very focused on a spoon and a handful of baby’s breath. 

“I’m sure Bill wouldn’t mind taking her off your hands for a little while.”

“And then Eli--”

“Paul.” She gestured across the room where Alice and Deb had Eli sitting on the table in front of them. The three were in the middle of a very exciting conversation as they all munched on cookies. “Good god.” Lifting Dani out of his lap, she gave a huge grin. “Hello, sweet girl.” Then she carefully transferred the baby to Bill, who gladly took Dani. “You don’t mind, do ya, Bill?”

He stared down at the little girl fondly. Almost like he was in another place and time. “Not at all. You two go on,” he assured them, reaching to the center piece to let Dani look at a white rose. “Today’s got me missing these days a little bit.” His eyes drifted back up to Paul. “You’ll be here one day, too.” Dani stared out at him with an open mouthed smile, waving flowers around with one chubby fist. She had his eyes. Big and blue. Wide with wonder. Looking at him like he was the best person in the entire world. “Go on, Paul.”

Begrudgingly, he let her drag him out onto the dance floor where they joined a few lingering couples. Somehow without a second thought, his hands found her waist while her arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer to her. It was much easier swaying out there with her than it had been almost eight years earlier while he was drunk on Halloween, and she had somehow tricked him into dancing in the kitchen with her. A surprisingly romantic gesture so early on from her, he eventually noted. “Look at you, you big dork,” she chuckled. Her breath smelled like the strawberries she had been sharing with their daughter. “You’re fucking fine. Giving me such a hard time over nothing. When will you ever learn, Matthews?”

He gave her a sideways grin. “I don’t know. You’re usually right, but I think you’re just going to have to give me a repeat on that lesson, Mrs. Matthews?” he teased right back at her.

It wasn’t until three years into being married that she brought up the name, having been adamant about keeping her maiden name. Even then, she talked about hyphenating it. There was something in there about keeping her own identity. She would go on about how taking a husband’s last name was something antiquated. One night, her tune had changed. Specifically, it was the night after she had dropped all the paperwork down at the courthouse.  _ “I thought about it, and it was a name that was given to me by someone who gave me shit in return. Hell, I even got some childhood trauma out of it.” _ She had laughed over the lip of a bottle of beer while they sat facing each other on the couch. Her legs tucked under her. They both propped the sides of their heads up with their hands as they leaned over the top of the couch. He watched her intently, wondering what she was getting at. His heart raced in his chest.  _ “I was starting to fill out the paperwork while I was at work and thought… fuck it. Because… I don’t know. You’ve kind of… ugh.” _ She leaned her head back, allowing her words to roll around in her brain before actually committing to saying them.  _ “You kind of gave me everything, so fuck it, I’ll just take the name.” _

“You know this is  _ technically _ our first dance.”

“No, there was that Halloween… and some other time I think.”

“No, idiot,” she scoffed. “Married. This is our first fucking dance being married.”

The smile returned to his face. Not that it ever completely left. “Is that why you brought me out here?” he wondered. “So we could have our first dance at someone else’s wedding.”

“Yeah, man, being a wedding crasher has always been on my bucket list, and even though this isn’t true wedding crashing, I think it’s close enough.” He laughed. She always made him laugh. Even before he really knew her, she still made him laugh. Her eyes found his, rich and warm. Filled with love. “This also was going to be the song that we danced to. Y’know, if the world hadn’t ended.”

With an arched brow, the corners of his mouth quirked up even more. “Really? Like, this exact one? Did you pay Alice off?”

“Alice, actually showed it to me, and… it was just nice,” she stated abruptly, shaking her head. “I’m not drunk enough to get my feelings on too much in public… although, I think I’m turning into a lightweight because just a glass of wine and one fucking Bud Light and I am  _ feeling _ it.”

“Hah, nerd,” he snorted. She pinched her face at him, almost like she was going to fire something back tenfold at him, but instead, she pulled his face down to hers. Their lips met lightly between them. He could remember first kissing her in the old house after picking up when she was locked out of her place. How he felt like everything was lit up inside of him. Like a thousand Christmas tree lights were shining inside his gut. Like when Dorothy stepped out of the house dropped from the tornado into a technicolor world. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips.

“Love you, too, you fucking nerd.”

They didn’t stay too late into the evening to avoid any temper tantrums, whether it was a regularly scheduled one from Dani or an exhaustion induced one from Eli. The goodbyes lingered as goodbyes generally do. Specifically with Bill and Alice. The four of them chatted by Paul’s car for a solid fifteen minutes before finally bidding their final adieus. Rather than driving all the way home the next day, they had decided to each take some vacation days from work to actually have a vacation. Upon traversing the internet, they found that old lake house they stayed at years earlier was available during the week they would be looking into. 

It was like being at home away from home. The house was smaller than theirs was and right on the water. Brighter. A little more rustic in its decor than they had in their own home. But it still felt as wonderful and light as she remembered. Even hauling two fully deadweight sleeping children in, the house was as welcoming as it had been previously. She bounded through the house toward the stairs like it was second nature, carrying an increasingly heavier sleeping Eli. A whimper came from behind her. “No, Dani girl, it’s okay,” he whispered. She glanced over her shoulder, and he shook his head. “I’ve got it. Go get the one who’s dead to the world up to bed.”

Climbing the stairs, she could remember being there the last time. The circumstances that had preceded the visit. She laid Eli out on the twin bed in the small room on the other side of the stairs from the master bedroom. His eyes fluttered open and squinted up at her as she finished changing him into pajamas and tucking him under the blankets. “Mama?” he yawned. “Where’s Dani?”

She held back her chuckle. The first thing he did was check on the littler one. Always trying to look after her. Even though a three year old trying to take care of a one year old was like having a cat try to guard your house. Ineffective and probably not so safe. She ran a hand through his hair. “She’s downstairs with Daddy, buddy. Don’t worry.”

He yawned again with a nod. His eyes slid shut. “Okay, Mama,” he mumbled, turning over and burying his face into his pillow. “I love you. Night night.”

“I love you, too, Eli,” she responded but it was barely a whisper. She looked at the side of his face she could still see in the dim light coming from the top of the stairs. There was no denying she was his kid. There was no swap made at the hospital. All she could see on him was her. That was what she always feared. That if she chose to have kids, they would just be like her, but he was different. He was bright and bubbly. Happy, too. Smart as a fucking whip and never repeated her potty mouth (thank fucking god). He was nothing like what she thought he would be. “Night night.” She pressed a soft kiss against his cheek and rose from the bed. Before heading downstairs, she took one last look over her shoulder at him. Dark curls splayed out on the white sheets behind him. Rocket ships on the sleeves of his PJs. Small fingers curled into loose fists in front of him. Her heart felt like it could burst.

The smile carried with her all the way back down the stairs and remained when she looked out. Stopping just before the bottom, Paul laid out on the couch caught her eye. The TV glowed and played quietly. It looked like an old re-run of  _ Whose Line Is It Anyway? _ was playing as some post-ten PM programming. Dani laid out on him, belly down. Her head of short chestnut hair fell onto his shirt. Like she had belly-flopped onto him and then decided to listen to his heartbeat in his chest. His fingers ran softly up and down her back as he watched the TV in a daze. He hadn’t even changed out of the clothes he wore to the wedding. 

Emma crossed the room to scoot into the sliver of couch beside them. Dani was out cold again. Whatever black magic he used to avert the crisis had worked. “Hey,” he said quietly, trying his best to situate himself so they could all fit on the couch comfortably without waking the baby. “Sorry, not much room.”

“That’s okay,” she replied. “I’m only fucking furious.”

“So the divorce papers are coming tomorrow then? How much did you pay Gary to drive all the way up here?”

“I don’t know. All my savings. I’m going to have to take you to the damn cleaners to be able to afford anything ever again.” All he gave was a suppressed chuckle in response, his hand reaching out to rest on her hip. She looked down at him. All the time she gave him shit about the white hairs starting in a barely noticeable way at his temples. How he was becoming an old man. But truthfully, he looked the same. He was the same Paul who would come in and buy shitty black, spit-filled coffee every single day just to see her. The same Paul who humored her and spent his first Christmas with her freezing his ass off in a cove on the beach. The same Paul who liked to get drunk and sing the Smiths  _ really  _ loudly. The same Paul who supported her indulging in her hobbies. Believing in her. Loving her. He loved her even if some of his hair was turning grey. “I feel… I don’t know. I feel like I’ve had a fucking dream like this.”

“Hmm?” he hummed, raising his eyebrows. “Is it as good as you remember it being?”

She thought about the question for a moment, considering all the details before answering. “No,” she decided. “I don’t know… it’s different.” Her hand ghosted over the back of Dani’s head. “I think it might be better? I don’t know. It feels like a friggen weird sort of dejavu, y’know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” he responded, thumb brushing against the fabric of the dress she had yet to change out of. “Same thing happens to me sometimes.” His thumb stopped moving, and instead, he gave her hip a light squeeze before resting his hand there again.

There was such a long and significant period of her life where she was adamant about not wanting to grow old. Never wanting to have to be around that long to see how much more she could fuck her life up. Feeling like she didn’t deserve to have that chance because Jane never got the option to. But then this stupid awkward beanpole of a man scooted in, crawled into her heart, and made himself at home. Suddenly, seeing what life was going to be like in thirty years didn’t seem so bad anymore. Settling down didn’t seem like such a cop out. It didn’t mean no longer having adventures. The adventures would always end, and they could reconvene at the homebase they had made for themselves. In one instant, she had gone from wanting to be out all the time. Never wanting to settle into those quiet moments at the end of the day. But now, she wanted nothing more than to just be at home. It was comfortable. It was happy. She was happy.

“I think this is better,” she told him.

“Hmm?”

“Than the dream,” she clarified, moving her hand from Dani’s head to his cheek. “This is better.” He gave her a soft smile. “It’s real.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I just want to thank all of you so much for following along with this silly little story. It's been such a joy to write it, and I'm so happy that so many of you have loved it as much as I have. You have all been so kind and wonderful. I don't think I could ever quite express my gratitude. There aren't enough words to do that.
> 
> So I'll just end it here with thank you. This isn't the end forever for this lil universe, but I am cooking up another project to make Hatchetfield a little happier that will fall in a different timeline. ;) Stay tuned, my friends.
> 
> Also if you have any interest in following me for my starkid and other ramblings on tumblr, you can find me at nocoffeeforoldmen.tumblr.com


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